A Thousand Years
by DamnDonnerGirls
Summary: "Our story will never end. That is how much I love you." After their first, serendipitous meeting in Iceland, Gale Hawthorne and Madge Undersee travel across Scandinavia to retrace the steps of the Viking warrior Gæl and his beloved Margaretha. A modern sequel to Enthralled, but can stand alone. Gadge with Odesta, Everlark, Clato, Thelly, and Jorius in later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

_Spring 2014_

It was raining.

A tall, handsome young man was chasing after a willowy blonde in a black dress, calling out her name.

"Madge," he panted, an umbrella in his hand. "Madge, wait."

_Too late,_ Madge Undersee thought. Two seconds in this downpour and it had already soaked her to the bone. _A lot can happen in two seconds. _

Two seconds and her hair was already plastered to her forehead, dripping water into her eyes, making it all but impossible to see her boyfriend Seneca hurrying toward her in his previously immaculate three-piece suit.

Two seconds and her own dress was already like a second skin, clinging almost obscenely to every curve on her body. _Dad would have had a fit._

A suspicious dampness that had nothing to do with the rain blurred her vision.

The umbrella sent water spraying in all directions when Seneca finally managed to wrangle it open, and he quickly held it up over her head. "Sorry," he apologized, looking at her anxiously. "Your dress—"

"Don't worry about it," she said. _Worse things have happened._

He hesitated for a split second before pulling her into his arms. "Your Aunt Maysilee and Uncle Haymitch are already there," he whispered, his lips brushing her ear.

_Aunt Maysilee. _

"I'm not ready," Madge said, burying her face in the crook of Seneca's neck, breathing in the designer perfume that complemented hers exactly. Wearing his-and-hers scents had been his idea, when they first started dating six months ago. His parents and her parents were friends, and while they were supportive, they had been surprised and not as optimistic about the match as Madge had expected them to be. _Not that it matters anymore._

She felt Seneca's chest rise and fall as he sighed. "Nobody ever is."

Madge felt her bottom lip start to quiver. "I wish—I only wish—"

A taxi pulled up next to them, and her heart leaped at the sight of the familiar dark-haired head that emerged from it.

"You came," was all Madge could say.

The new arrival tore her away from Seneca and hugged her fiercely. "I said I would, didn't? I talked to my adviser and got on the first flight I could find. My dissertation can wait."

Madge was weeping openly now. "You came," she repeated, her chest heaving with sobs.

"Shh, shh," her best friend said, her own voice breaking as she stroked Madge's hair and held her close. "Annie's here."

**.**

**ooo**

**.**

_Residents of the town of Vostead, near Seattle, WA, braved torrential rains and came out in droves yesterday afternoon to pay their last respects to their departed mayor Eric Undersee, 54, and his wife Mathilde, 51, who were killed a few days ago in the 100__th__ mass shooting in the United States since New Year's Day 2014._

_A lone gunman opened fire at a Vostead High School assembly where the mayor and his wife were invited guests. The school's principal, three teachers, and eleven students were wounded. Besides the Undersees and the gunman who shot himself at the end of his rampage, there were no other casualties._

_The Undersees are survived by their only child, Margaret, 25._

**.**

**ooo**

**.**

"How's she holding up?" Haymitch Abernathy asked gruffly, swirling the whiskey around in his glass. It was the morning after the funeral, and he was sitting around Eric and Mathilde's kitchen table with little Annika Cresta—well, not so little anymore—while his wife Maysilee went and talked to Madge in her room.

Annie held her cup of chamomile tea with both hands, savoring the warmth of it. "I'm a little worried," his niece's best friend admitted. "She's not crying anymore. She hasn't, since the funeral. And she doesn't talk about her feelings… whenever she opens her mouth, it's facts, the most cut and dried things you can think of. I mean, she's not the most outwardly expressive person to begin with, but this is different. It's hard to get any reaction out of her."

"You've been friends for how many years now? Twenty?"

"Yep," Annie confirmed, taking a sip of her tea. "We met at pre-ballet. Or so people tell us; neither of us can actually remember what happened. It might as well be a lifetime ago, because as far as I know Madge has always been... _there_."

Haymitch nodded in understanding. "I know the feeling. It was like that for me and May."

"I thought you met when you were sixteen?"

"We did. But I'll be damned if you could convince me that she wasn't around for all the years before." Haymitch knocked back his whiskey and poured himself another glass. It seemed a bit excessive for ten o'clock in the morning, but Annie had known Madge's uncle long enough to recognize that it was Haymitch's idea of breakfast.

His next question caught her off guard. "Is Madge's boyfriend any help at all?"

Annie was surprised to hear the hostility in his tone. "You don't like Seneca."

"He's a decent enough fellow," Haymitch granted, "but he's just not right for Madge, and if you ask May she'll tell you the same thing. Even Eric and Mat thought so."

"I know what you mean," Annie said. Madge and Seneca cared for each other deeply; she knew that much. But there was always something missing, something Annie couldn't quite put her finger on. Or rather, something she absolutely _could_ put her finger on, only she was too afraid to say it out loud, worried that she might be wrong, dreading that she might be right.

**.**

**ooo**

**.**

Madge was sitting up in bed, tapping away at her laptop and surrounded by newspapers, when Maysilee came in.

"Madge, honey," her aunt said, her forehead creased in concern. "What are you doing?"

"Documenting," Madge answered in a neutral tone. She chewed on her lip as she peered at a copy of the _Seattle Times_. Maysilee had been studiously avoiding the media since her twin's death, directing all of the reporters to Haymitch who then told them, in no uncertain terms, to fuck off. And yet here Madge was, devouring every article, every mention of the shooting that she could find. _Gun control advocates up in arms over local tragedy._

Maysilee sank down on the bed next to her niece. "I can see that, but why?"

The younger blonde pressed her lips together so tightly they turned white, and Maysilee thought that her niece would break down and cry. But Madge's eyes stayed resolutely dry. "I don't want to forget."

"Okay, sweetie. If this is what you need to do... I'll support it."

Madge turned to look at her aunt with those indigo eyes, and in that moment she looked so much like Mathilde had in her twenties that Maysilee's heart ached.

"It hurts so much." Madge's voice was plaintive, wounded. "It hurts, physically. Here." She gestured towards her heart, her stomach, her head. "Everywhere."

Maysilee opened her arms, and Madge crawled in. For a while, they held each other in silence.

"The first few days… I couldn't breathe," Maysilee said quietly. "It felt as if the lungs had been torn out of my body. Mat and I... we've never been apart. But she isn't really gone, is she? I look at you, and even though you are your own person... I see so much of her in you. I look at you, and it's like turning back time."

The corner of Madge's mouth twitched slightly. "That's a lot to live up to."

"I can't promise you that things will get better, Madge," her aunt told her, "but it will go on."

Madge nodded, and pulled herself upright. She ran a finger around the edge of the box Maysilee had brought. "What's this?"

"Just some things that Grandpa Donner left us when he died. I've been holding on to them, but I think it's time to pass them on to you."

Madge lifted the lid, and immediately the musty but comforting smell of old books filled her nostrils. She picked one up and leafed through it, but it was in a language she couldn't even identify. She ran her eyes down the page, trying to find words she could actually pronounce. Finally, she came across a name that sounded vaguely familiar. "Vik Hallvardson."

She looked up at her aunt. "I thought we were German."

"We are," Maysilee said. "But we're lots of other things, too. You know, Washington state has the fourth-highest number of people of Scandinavian descent in the United States."

"I thought they were mostly in the Midwest." Annie's brother Rafe dated a girl from Minneapolis once. She'd given him a Minnesota Vikings jersey.

"Oh, they are. Minnesota, Wisconsin, Illinois... North Dakota's up there, too. But there's a fair few here, and in Oregon and California. In fact, Vostead is an Anglicization of Danish, Norwegian, and Swedish words. It means 'wet place'."

"You're kidding."

"Swear to God." Maysilee rummaged around in the box, and came up with a silver, T-shaped pendant engraved with intricate twists and turns. "Or, more appropriately, swear to gods."

Madge recognized the symbol. "Mjolnir. Thor's hammer."

"Do you remember what Thursday—Thor's day—is in German?"

If Maysilee blinked, she would have missed it, but for two seconds the ghost of a smile appeared on Madge's face for the first time since her parents died. "Donnerstag."

"That's right." Maysilee placed the Mjolnir pendant in Madge's open palm and closed her niece's fingers around it. "Donner is German for thunder."

**.**

**ooo**

**.**

_St. Paul, Minnesota_

"Gale. _Gale_. Hey asshole, wake up."

Gale Hawthorne opened one crusty eye experimentally, and decided the throbbing in his skull wasn't worth it. He rolled over in bed and pulled the quilt up over his head. "Go away," he mumbled, hoping his friend and roommate Bristel would get the hint.

"I take it things didn't go too well with Katniss."

_You have no idea. _Gale had been so drunk that he'd passed out on his stomach, and he could smell the booze on the drool on his pillow. The box with his grandmother's engagement ring was still in his pants pocket, pressing painfully against his thigh.

For what seemed like the hundredth time in the past twenty-four hours, Gale wondered what the hell had possessed him to propose to Katniss Everdeen. Sure, she was his girlfriend, and he was crazy about her, had been for nearly a decade now.

Sure, they were getting to be that age when things like marriage started to be an actual possibility and not just some vague reference to the future. Katniss was twenty-five now, and Gale was twenty-seven. When Gale's parents were twenty-seven, Gale was in second grade.

Sure, Katniss and Gale were, in the eyes of all their friends at least, an old married couple already. They had gotten together when Katniss was seventeen and Gale was nineteen, and before that they'd been best friends for two years. It had always been Gale and Katniss, Katniss and Gale. Anything else was absurd. Anything else was unthinkable.

But Katniss had never been very good at relationships, or emotions, or anything like that, really. She'd been almost pathologically oblivious to his hints and advances back in high school. It wasn't until Gale went off to college, and Katniss flared up with hot jealousy over his string of one-night stands there, that she finally decided to claim Gale for herself. Even after that, Gale always suspected he was more into her than she would ever be into him, a feeling that wounded his ego more than he would ever admit to anyone. He was Gale "Love 'Em and Leave 'Em" Hawthorne, for god's sake. He was a legend.

His suspicions were confirmed yesterday, when they drove out to Minnehaha Falls—the place where they had their first kiss—and Katniss dumped him before he could even get down on one knee.

"We used to be good together, Gale," she said. "But we've changed, and we're not anymore."

There was no arguing with that. After eight years of dating, the magic had begun to wear off. Half the time they were at each other's throats, and the other half they were freezing each other out. At first Gale didn't mind too much, because the makeup sex was _great_, but in time even that had fizzled out. He grew more and more possessive, and Katniss grew more and more resentful. She repeatedly refused to move in with him and Bristel and their friend Thom, choosing to stay at home with her family instead, saying that her little sister Prim needed her around. Prim, who was now twenty-one, in medical school, and practically engaged to Gale's brother Rory already.

"I'm willing to put in the work to make things good again," he said, not wanting to go down without a fight. "I'll make a good husband. I'll make a good dad."

"I know," Katniss said, her eyes shining with tears. "You'll be the best."

"I make enough money now, and so do you. Our parents never had that when they got married."

She spoke the words so softly, Gale could barely hear them. "I know."

"Is there anyone else?" he dared to ask, bracing himself for the answer. There was that priest, or at least that guy who used to be in the seminary and then wasn't anymore, the guy who ran the soup kitchen Katniss liked to volunteer at. Peter something or other, his name was. Gale had seen the way the guy's eyes followed Katniss around whenever he thought she—or Gale—wasn't looking. Not that Katniss ever picked up on these things. After all these years, Katniss Everdeen still had no idea, the effect she had on people.

"No, of course not," Katniss answered immediately. "I would never do that to you. I would never do that to anyone."

Gale put his head in his hands. "What _are_ you doing, Katniss? What are you doing to us?"

"I'm _saving_ us," she insisted. "We have to end this now before we ruin our friendship forever."

And by that time Gale knew it was a suicide mission, but if anything was going to change her mind, it was the truth. "I love you, Katniss."

Her silence said more than words ever could.

**.**

**ooo**

**.**

Bristel hauled him out of bed, no small feat as Gale was six foot four, nearly two hundred pounds, and had recently consumed what seemed like enough liquor to fill the Great Lakes. "Clean yourself up. You have a video call in fifteen minutes."

"A video call?" Gale repeated, feeling disoriented by the way he heard the words come out of his mouth a full second after he'd thought them in his head.

"Remember yesterday, when Thom said he ran into Professor Latier in Oslo and gave him your Skype info?" Thom was in Norway for three months on his company's dime, and he had been insufferable since first landing a week ago. If there was anything Gale and Bristel knew about Thom, it was that he was really, _really_ into blondes, and an all-expenses-paid trip to Scandinavia was their friend's idea of heaven. "Well, Latier rang you up an hour ago while you were in a Jägermeister coma. He's calling you back at four."

"It's not Jägermeister," Gale felt compelled to say. "It's this new Polish vodka. It's ninety-six percent alcohol."

"Do I fucking look like I care? Just take a shower, perform an exorcism, whatever it takes to get you presentable."

Twelve minutes, one shower, two naproxen, and thirty-two ounces of Gatorade later, Gale was seated at his desk, the blood in his veins pulsing to the synth pop beats of the Skype app's ringtone.

The face of the man who was once Gale's adviser filled the screen of his laptop. "Gale Hawthorne," Professor B.T. Latier said, grinning broadly. "I see Bristel has managed to bring you back from the dead." It had been five years, but his calm voice still sent chills down Gale's spine. Gale half-expected him to say that they'd found something wrong with his thesis or his transcript somehow, and that they were sending him back to engineering school.

Gale could feel his face grow warm. "Professor Latier," he managed to say, trying not to go cross-eyed as he focused on the screen. "It's great to hear from you again. Thom said you were working in the private sector now."

Latier chuckled. "Did he tell you I went over to the dark side?"

"Well, yes," Gale hedged. "But I thought you told him to say that."

"I did, I did," Latier said, cleaning his glasses and putting them back on. "Are you still with Panem Industries?"

"Yes," Gale said, wiping his clammy hands on his jeans.

"Working on what?"

"Technologies for mining safety, mostly." His father had almost died in a cave-in when Gale was fourteen, and since then Gale had made it his personal crusade to improve working conditions in the mines. As much as he hated Panem Industries and as creepy as their CEO Coriolanus Snow was, his job put him on the right track to do just that. Eventually.

Katniss's dad worked in the mines, too, and he'd been in the same accident. The long, onerous class action suit that followed was the entire reason Gale met Katniss in the first place.

Gale felt sick to his stomach, and not just from the Polish vodka. How could he function like a normal human being when everything in his life reminded him of Katniss?

Latier nodded as Gale described his projects and his responsibilities at Panem, or at least the parts that he was allowed to talk about. "Do you have a non-compete clause in your contract?" the professor asked.

"Just three months," Gale said.

"Excellent. I can work with three months." Latier leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms over his chest, and smiled. "How would you like to come work with me?"

"With you?" Gale repeated.

"Yes. You're brilliant—that's a given—and I've always admired your work ethic, Hawthorne. This company I'm working for, sometimes I think it's got more money than sense, so I'm going to go ahead and surround myself with people I trust."

"Thank you, Professor," Gale said humbly.

"Our headquarters are in Stockholm. Lots of locals, lots of expats. It's a very dynamic, very multicultural environment—you'll like it a lot." Latier scribbled on a piece of paper, and held it up for Gale to see. "This is what you're likely to get paid—I expect you'll like that a lot, too."

Holy shit, that was a lot of zeroes. "What currency is that in?"

"It's in Swedish kroner," Latier said. "It includes your rent and a small stipend for other expenses. Scandinavia is expensive, mind you, so all our expatriate employees get a cost-of-living allowance. If you have dependents—a wife or fiancée, kids—it'll be adjusted upwards. Are you married? Engaged?"

_I could have been. _More thoughts of Katniss came bubbling to the surface, but Gale pushed them back down. "No, but would my parents and siblings count as dependents?"

"Unfortunately, no. Not unless you can demonstrate that your contributions are their main source of income."

Gale allowed himself a sheepish smile. "Oh, well, it was worth a shot."

"I know it's a lot to take in, but here's what we can do," Latier continued. "My boss will need to meet you anyway, and there's a conference in Iceland that we're attending next week. So how about you come up and meet us in Reykjavík, ask us any questions you might have? We'll pay for the flights, put you up at a hotel for three days—that's standard for all our prospective expats, and there are no strings attached."

Gale dragged a hand through his hair. This was happening too fast, too soon, and it all sounded too good to be true. But Professor Latier was vouching for him, and even if Gale didn't end up taking the offer he would still have gotten a free trip to Iceland out of it. Hell, Gale could even take the money he'd been saving for marrying Katniss and spend it on a flight to Norway to visit Thom, see what all the fuss was about. He had another friend in Denmark, if he remembered correctly, though Gale wasn't entirely sure if visiting Jo was a good idea.

He twisted the ring on his finger, lost in thought.

"So what do you think, Hawthorne?" Latier wanted to know, bringing Gale back to the present. "Are you in or not?"

And if Gale _did _end up taking the job, some distance from Katniss was just what he needed. Okay, so Sweden was probably overkill, and anyone who knew them would almost certainly think he was running away, but still…

Gale felt his face break into a huge grin. He touched his left wrist, something he had a habit of doing each time he made a decision or a promise, though he could never really explain why.

"I'm in."

* * *

><p>.<p>

.

**A/N:**

Vostead = våd/våt means "wet", and sted/stad means "place" or "town/city".

Rafe, like Ulf, means "wolf".

I know it's horrendously late, but I hope you liked it! The main ships are the same as they were in _Enthralled. _More commentary will be posted on my Tumblr under the tag **#previously on ATY**.


	2. Chapter 2

Of all the things Peeta Mellark was planning to do that night, obsessively stalking a woman he had no right to even be _looking_ at was not high up on his list. But there he was, parked down the street from Katniss Everdeen's house, his hands gripping the steering wheel of his secondhand Camry so tightly that his knuckles had turned white.

_You're making a mountain out of a molehill_, he told himself. _So she didn't turn up at the soup kitchen. Volunteers are allowed to do that. That's why they're called volunteers._

But Rue, another regular volunteer who worked with Katniss at the Department of Natural Resources, said she hadn't turned up for work, either. She'd texted her best friend Prim—Katniss's sister—only to receive a cryptic _She's not feeling well _in reply.

A gentle voice interrupted his thoughts, bringing him back to the present. "Peeta?"

He nearly jumped out of his skin. A beat-up old truck had slowed down to a stop beside his car, and the passenger window rolled down to reveal Primrose Everdeen herself, looking down at him with concern.

"Prim," he croaked. A furtive glance revealed that it was Rory Hawthorne—Gale's younger brother and doppelgänger—in the driver's seat, and the thought of Katniss's intimidating alpha male boyfriend filled Peeta with even more guilt than before. "Rory."

"Are you coming over to see Katniss?" Prim asked, tugging on her blonde braid.

"S–sort of," Peeta stammered. "She didn't come to the soup kitchen, and Rue said she didn't show up for work, so I thought—I thought maybe she was sick."

Prim exchanged worried glances with Rory before turning back to Peeta. "I guess you could say that."

"She broke up with Gale," Rory said bluntly.

Peeta froze.

"Rory!" Prim reprimanded him. "That's between Katniss and Gale."

Her boyfriend shrugged. "People are going to find out sooner or later. It might as well be sooner."

"I'm really sorry to hear that," Peeta said. And he was. They'd been having some problems lately—any couple would, after eight years of dating—but Katniss and Gale, well, one look at them and anyone would think that they belonged together. They even looked a little alike, with their matching dark hair, gray eyes, and ridiculously perfect bone structure. Each time Peeta saw them, it was like a punch to the gut.

But now… but now they weren't together, not anymore. Something like hope fluttered in his chest. Would he have a chance now? _Don't be a jerk, Mellark._ He couldn't make a move on her so soon. Besides, did he even know how to make a move on a girl anymore? When he entered the seminary, he'd accepted that there were things in life—marriage, fatherhood—that just weren't meant for him. Even after dropping out last year, he didn't dare think that those things could be back on the table. Then he'd met Katniss and fallen hopelessly in love with her despite his better judgment, despite knowing she was with someone else. Someone who actually deserved her.

Besides, relationships like Katniss and Gale's didn't _end_ just like that. There was too much history, too much baggage, for it to be a clean break.

"I'm sure they'll get back together eventually," he added.

"I doubt it," Rory said. "Gale's running away to Europe. He's got a flight booked and everything."

"Rory!" Prim scolded him.

"It's true! He's leaving next week!"

Heart pounding at the implication—at the knowledge that Katniss was single, and that Gale was going to go far, far away very soon—Peeta retrieved the large paper bag that was sitting in his passenger seat. "I don't want to impose," he began anxiously, "but—but if you don't mind, could you give this to Katniss for me? It's probably not a good idea for me to visit, under the circumstances."

"Of course," Prim said, leaning out of the window to accept the package. "Can I ask what's in it?"

"It's, um, lamb stew," Peeta told her. "There's some bread, too. Actually… you know what, don't tell her that it was from me. There's enough for four people, so you can just serve it for dinner without saying anything."

A sweet smile lit up Prim's cornflower blue eyes. "I won't need to say anything. She loves everything you make; one taste and she'll know it's from you."

Peeta blushed. "Thanks." He was usually much more confident than this; he'd been student council president _and _captain of the wrestling team in high school. He'd even been able to talk his way around Father Athelstan, during his short-lived stint at the seminary. But there was something about the Everdeen sisters that left him either tongue-tied or blabbering on like an idiot.

"I guess we'll see you around, Peeta," Prim said. "Thanks for the food."

The words came tumbling out of his mouth before he could put a stop to them. "Anything for Katniss."

**.**

**ooo**

**.**

It was like they were fourteen years old again, caught up in daydreams of romance, practicing for homecoming like they used to do.

"I love this song," Annie sighed, resting her chin on Madge's shoulder. They were in Madge's room, slow-dancing along to Mr. and Mrs. Undersee's wedding video. "Every time I hear it, I turn to mush. And after all these years, Roberta Flack's version is still the best by far."

_The first time ever I saw your face_

_I thought the sun rose in your eyes_

On the TV screen, a younger Eric and Mathilde Undersee held each other tenderly for the first time as a married couple: foreheads touching, his hand on the small of her back, their feet barely moving to the music.

Madge felt tears well up in her eyes, but she blinked them away. "How long are you going to stay in town?" she asked quietly.

"I have to go back to Reykjavík next week," Annie said regretfully. "That paper isn't going to write itself, and I need the university's computers to parse all that data."

_And the moon and the stars were the gifts you gave_

_To the dark and the endless skies, my love_

"Oh," Madge said in a small voice.

"Come with me," Annie urged, giving her best friend a small squeeze. "You need a change of scenery."

"It would be nice," Madge admitted. "Aunt Maysilee gave me all that Viking stuff from Grandpa Donner… I've been reading what I can, but most of the books are in Old Norse. Someone from Iceland would be able to translate them."

"There you go."

"But the law firm… I'm not sure if I can afford to stay away that long," Madge said doubtfully.

"You mean the firm that Seneca's dad runs? I'm sure he'll be okay with it."

_To the dark and the endless skies._

Seneca appeared in the doorway, rapping his knuckles lightly on the frame. "I heard my name." His face softened at the sight of Madge and Annie in each other's arms. "May I cut in?"

Annie released Madge from her embrace and stepped back. "Of course. I needed to call my adviser anyway." She picked up her phone and laptop from Madge's bed. "I'll be in the living room."

The door clicked shut behind her.

_And the first time ever I kissed your mouth_

_I felt the earth move in my hand_

Seneca's arms were strong around her, and his scent was familiar and comforting. And even though they weren't engaged, even though they hadn't been together that long, Madge couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to marry him. After all, he was a lot like her father had been at his age: an up-and-coming, ambitious lawyer, with an appetite for politics and grand ideas for the future.

A vision filled Madge's mind: a long, flowing dress; the tall, dark, handsome man she would call her husband. Rose petals, music, dancing.

_Like the trembling heart of a captive bird_

_That was there at my command, my love_

Another image: empty chairs at her wedding, where her mother and father should be sitting.

Madge looked back at the television, at the ghosts of her parents dancing across the screen. At that small, poignant memory preserved, crystallized in time. Eric and Mathilde's story was over and done before Madge's had even begun.

_That was there at my command, my love._

_Happy thoughts,_ Madge chided herself. _Only think happy thoughts._

She squeezed her eyes shut and tried again.

_And the first time ever I laid with you_

_I felt your heart so close to mine_

A long, flowing dress.

The tall, dark, handsome man she would call her husband.

Rose petals, music, dancing.

Her husband, whispering in her ear. _Our story will never end, _she could hear him say. _That is how much I love you. _

_And I knew our joy would fill the earth_

_And last 'til the end of time, my love_

But it wasn't Seneca that she saw in her mind's eye; not his blue eyes that were gazing back down at her just then. No, it was a different man altogether, someone she had never even met before. Someone with the smell of the forest lingering on his skin. Someone whose features were clouded beyond recognition, save for the green and purple lights reflected in his silver eyes.

He was a stranger, but he knew her, _understood _her, the way her father understood her mother, the way Aunt Maysilee and Uncle Haymitch understood each other. The way that, all of a sudden, Madge knew in her heart Seneca—through no fault of his own—never could.

_And it would last 'til the end of time,_

_My love._

**.**

**ooo**

**.**

"Penny for your thoughts, m'lady," Seneca said softly, when the song was over.

Madge's face grew warm. "It's nothing," she hastened to say. "I was just thinking… about my parents. About this song."

He smiled sadly at her. "It makes you think, doesn't it." The way he said the words made it sound like a statement, not a question. "How precious every moment is. How you should spend as much time as you can with the one you truly love. And… and if you haven't met him yet, how you should go out there, put yourself out there, so he can find you. So you can find him."

Madge felt her body stiffen. Could he read her mind? Did he know?

"I do love you, Madge," Seneca said, looking down at their intertwined hands. "But I haven't been a good friend to you. I haven't been entirely honest with you—or with myself. And I wanted to wait, wait until the worst of your grief had passed, but… I don't think I can live this lie any longer. Madge… please don't be angry with me for what I'm about to say."

And Madge _knew_. She knew what it was before he even said it. It was as if a veil had been lifted from her eyes, and she was finally able to see him clearly for the very first time. Every niggling doubt she had pushed aside in the past, because Seneca said he loved her and she wanted to believe him, every piece of the puzzle was now falling into place. She didn't know whether to laugh, because at least now she didn't have to break up with him, or to cry, because all this time she had thought she was smarter than that, and all this time she had been so very _wrong_.

She reached up and touched his face. "It's okay," she found herself saying. "I'm not angry. In fact, I… when the shock wears off, I'm sure I'll find that I'm actually… _happy_."

Relief flooded Seneca's chiseled features, and he gratefully pressed his lips to her hand before placing it over his heart.

"I've made up my mind," Madge told Annie later, after Seneca had left. "I'm going to Iceland with you."

"What happened?" Annie asked, sensing something had changed.

"You were right," Madge said simply. "Seneca is gay."

**.**

**ooo**

**.**

"Passport?" Hazelle Hawthorne asked.

Gale patted his jacket pocket. "Here."

"Tickets?"

"Yep."

"Phone?"

"Got it." He wrapped his arms around his mother and embraced her tightly. "I'll be fine, Ma. I'll call you the moment I land."

"Okay." Hazelle put her hands on either side of his head, and pulled it down so she could kiss his forehead. "Be safe."

"Bring me back a drinking horn," Rory said, after the two brothers had performed an awkward dance ending in a half-hug. "Preferably stolen, for the full Viking experience."

"Rory," their mother said in disapproval.

"Bring me back a hot Icelandic boy," Posy, all of thirteen years old, piped up. "I hear there are lots."

Gale scowled even as he leaned down and gave his little sister a hug. "Absolutely not." He paused, and sniffed her hair. "Wait, how come you smell like a baby again?"

Posy gave him a strange look. "You're just imagining things, Gale."

Eighteen-year-old Vick had his backpack on the floor and was frantically digging through it. Finally, he found what he was looking for, and held it up in triumph. "I got this for you."

"Thanks, Vick," Gale said, touched, as he accepted the battered, leather-bound book.

Vick pushed his glasses up his nose. "I found it at a secondhand store," he said, tapping the cover. _Sægeirrs saga_, it said. "It's about a Viking who moves to the Icelandic colony from continental Europe. I thought it would be a nice thing to read on the plane. "

Vick had always been the cultured one in the family.

Of course Gale was going to read it—eventually—but he didn't have the heart to tell his brother that he would most likely spend all his waking hours on the flight watching as many action films as he could find, preferably those with as little plot as possible. The closest thing to a Viking history lesson that he was going to get over the next ten to fifteen hours was Marvel's _Thor_. Or maybe not; he doubted he could watch two hours of a petite brunette like Natalie Portman without thinking of Katniss.

Bristel had come to send him off, too, and unlike Rory he knew exactly what kind of hug he was going for: starting out as a firm handshake, then bringing their clasped hands to chest level while leaning forward and bumping shoulders briefly. "Gotta admit, I'm jealous. You and Thom in Norway together—that's going to be one for the ages. You guys always leave me behind."

"If I get the job, you can visit me in Sweden any time," Gale told him. "We'll have real adventures while Thom chases after blondes."

Bristel chuckled. "I'll hold you to that."

Finally, Gale came to the end of the line: the last, but certainly not the least, person in his small army of well-wishers.

"Dad," he said, a lump suddenly forming in his throat. "I'll miss you guys. I wish I could bring you all with me."

Edward Hawthorne engulfed his eldest son in a bear hug. "Don't worry about us," he reassured him, ruffling Gale's hair as if he were a little boy again. "Don't let us hold you back."

"You're not holding me back," Gale protested.

Edward smiled. "If you say so."

And then they were all crowded around him, their arms around each other's shoulders, for one last group hug before he disappeared into the terminal.

"We love you, Gale."

"Put photos on Facebook or Instagram or _something_."

"He doesn't have any of those things, Pose."

"I swear, Gale, you're so medieval."

"Remember, if they ask, say you're Canadian."

Edward stepped back and looked at his firstborn, thinking of the boy he used to be, seeing the man he had become. "We've always known you were special," he said, and Gale knew his father meant every word. "Now it's time for you to show the world."

**.**

**ooo**

**.**

Business class was _nice_.

Gale could stretch his legs out, for once. That was the number one most important thing for a guy his size. And with wider seats and armrests actually worth a damn, he didn't have to constantly worry about poking someone's eyes out with his elbows.

Plus, he had free WiFi. Not that he needed it—the idea of being completely off the grid for a while was very, very appealing—but if he had to, he could email Thom or get him on Skype, try to get an actual itinerary going for his visit.

Even without WiFi, the in-flight entertainment looked promising, and it was definitely the biggest screen he'd ever seen stuck to the back of a plane seat. _Sorry, Vick,_ Gale thought. _I'll read that book some other time._

The only drawback was that, as big as the seats were, they were still arranged side by side in standard rows, not at an angle to each other and walled off cubicle-style like the newer planes apparently had. All the leg room in the world wasn't going to make up for it if he ended up sitting next to someone who made his life miserable for over ten hours. He mentally crossed his fingers and kept his eye on the entrance, watching the plane fill up, cheering inwardly each time someone walked past his row.

Gale breathed a sigh of relief as the cabin door closed, the seat next to him still empty. _Privacy, _he thought to himself. _Sweet, sweet leg room and privacy. I could get used to business class._

But his relief was short-lived, as a tall, familiar-looking man who had bypassed Gale's row just moments ago backpedaled and stuffed his enormous hiking pack into the overhead compartment right above Gale.

To make matters worse, when the man finally slid into his seat, he turned around and stuck his hand out in Gale's face. "Hey, neighbor," the undeniably attractive and unflaggingly cheerful man said in a distinctive Australian accent. "Looks like we're going to be stuck together for a while. Might as well get to know each other. The name's—"

"Finnick Odair," Gale finished for him, accepting the handshake. "The pro surfer." Not to mention model, playboy, entrepreneur, and who knew what else. He wondered if he should get an autograph for Posy. He wondered if he should get an autograph for his mother. Quick, how did you take selfies again?

"Call me Finn." His grin grew even wider, if that were even possible, making his dimples deepen in his cheeks. It was almost enough to make Gale question his sexuality. "And you are?"

"Gale," he said. "Gale Hawthorne."

**.**

**ooo**

**.**

After the initial starstruck feeling wore off five, maybe ten minutes later, Gale felt his eyes start to glaze over while Finn continued to chatter nonstop.

"Nice name, Hawthorne," Finn complimented him. "That's the name of the suburb where I grew up in Melbourne. It's the name of the footy club I support, too—the Hawthorn Hawks. We lost to Sydney in 2012, but last year we won the premiership, and this year I reckon we're the one to beat."

Finn took his silence as an opportunity to launch into a long, detailed explanation of Australian rules football, which as far as Gale could tell was just rugby without sleeves. But Gale played along, nodding whenever it seemed appropriate. In time, though, the smile pasted on his face started to slide off. _Oh god, make him stop._

"So, Iceland," Finn said, finally changing the subject. "Why Iceland?"

"I have a job interview," Gale answered, slightly surprised that he still had the power of speech. "I'm an engineer."

"Ah, a brainy one," Finn nodded sagely. "Never was good with maths myself. I dropped out of uni when I turned pro."

"And you?" Gale asked, despite himself. "Why are you going to Iceland?"

"My company,"—Finn pointed at his shirt, which had the word AEGIR and a stylized drawing of a wave on it—"we're branching out into cold water surfing. It's a small market at the moment, but we're foreseeing heaps of growth. It's like the final frontier in surfing. Anyway, I just came from meetings with suppliers in Minneapolis, and we're doing a photo shoot with our new 6mm insulated wetsuits all around the Iceland coast. You should come along if you're free. Do you model?"

Gale was flattered. After getting brutally dumped by Katniss, it was nice to be noticed by someone who looked good for a living. "No, I should probably stick to engineering. But thanks."

"Give it a go. You won't know until you try."

Before the flight had even taken off, Finn had pulled out his phone and started swiping through his photos. "Here's the first time I tried surfing in Iceland. Check out all that ice on the shore. And look—the sand is black, from the volcanic activity. Isn't that awesome?"

Gale made a valiant effort to look equally interested in all of the photos, even going so far as to stop Finn in mid-swipe. "Who's that?" he asked, pointing out a dark-haired girl whose lovely face jumped out at him from the screen.

For once, Finn fell silent, running a hand through his shock of red hair in an almost bashful gesture. "A girl I met a few years ago," he answered, his face suddenly serious. "An American, like you. She was doing her master's degree in Queensland at the time. Marine biology."

"She must be pretty special, if you kept her photo all these years."

"I don't even know where she is now," Finn admitted. "She's not exactly easy to find. Probably just as well. She's wicked smart. Half the time I didn't know what to say to her. Still, I always wonder what could've been, y'know? D'you ever feel that way about a girl?"

Gale let out a short laugh. "It's a long story."

Finn grinned. "I think you can manage to fit it into ten hours, yeah?"

"Maybe." As a rule, Gale didn't like to talk about relationships to anyone, much less a near stranger. But there was something about Finn that made Gale want to tell him his secrets.

Finn rang for a flight attendant. "This is probably the kind of story that needs to be shared over a beer."

"My sentiments exactly," Gale agreed.

"I have a feeling, Gale Hawthorne," Finn declared, "that this is the start of a particularly epic friendship."

* * *

><p>.<p>

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**A/N:** If you haven't heard the song referenced here, I've posted a live version on Tumblr.

Speaking of first times, Gale and Madge will finally meet in the next chapter.

P.S. Forgot to mention that the Mjolnir pendant from Chapter 1 actually made its first appearance in _Enthralled_ Chapter 11. :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Rated M for sex, coarse language, and references to past drug use. Kids, don't try this at home. Don't try this anywhere.**

.

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* * *

><p><em>Copenhagen<em>

Johanna Mason fucking loved Denmark.

Of course, she could live without the extravagant prices for everything—she was paying nearly four dollars for a measly eleven ounces of Coke, for chrissake—and the fact that her closest friends, like Katniss Everdeen, were a ten-hour flight and several time zones away. But the architecture, the museums, _Fristaden Christiania_, and the cycling culture more than made up for it.

Not to mention the clubs. _God_, the clubs. As a neurochemist, Johanna knew perfectly well that music was like a drug, affecting the levels of dopamine, cortisol, serotonin, and oxytocin in the brain. But _experiencing _it was a different matter entirely. That was why every Friday night, after hanging up her lab coat at the multinational pharmaceutical company that was paying her and her team to find the next big thing in antidepressants, she slipped into a sparkly top and leather pants, and hit the meatpacking district with Enobaria.

She was there for the music: for the steady thump of the bass, the otherworldly strains of the synths that hit her right in the nucleus accumbens—the pleasure center of the brain—and sent delicious chills down her spine. She was there for the dancing, or what passed for dancing in a writhing mass of human flesh. The dance floor was a tangle of supple limbs and perfect bodies, a collective frenzy of hundreds of beautiful young men and women. A sea of humanity, individuals so different and diverse, local Danish as well as tourists and expatriates like Minneapolis-born Johanna and London-bred Enobaria. But under the pulsing lights that turned the entire room blood red, then pitch black, then blood red again, they were all the same. They were one. They were alive.

"Looks like someone fancies you," Enobaria shouted to her over the din.

"Male or female?" Johanna shouted back. She was fine either way.

"Male."

"Hot or not?"

Enobaria grinned deviously. "Red hot."

Johanna followed Enobaria's gaze to the bar, and found herself staring at an impossibly handsome man with the long, lithe body of an underwear model. And even though there were at least five hundred, possibly up to eight hundred other people there, she knew he was staring right back at her, and the knowledge sent waves of arousal straight into her clit.

"What's your name?" he breathed into her ear in lightly Danish-accented English, later when he had her pressed up against her apartment door. They had barely lasted fifteen minutes on the dance floor. They'd started making out five minutes in, their tongues slipping and sliding inside each other's mouths. Ten minutes and Johanna had taken his hands and put them on her breasts underneath her top as she ground her ass into his groin. Johanna had always been sexually aggressive—she had constantly scandalized Katniss in all the years they shared a dorm room in college—but she had never done _that _in a club before.

And Johanna always, _always_ gave her hookups a fake name, but this time she was so overcome with desire that she forgot everything except the truth. "Johanna," she gasped, her fingers buried in his thick red hair.

_Johanna Mason fucking loved Denmark._

"Johanna," he murmured against her throat as he hiked her leg up onto his hip. "I'm Darius."

As they stumbled into the apartment, she wondered why he had bothered to tell her. But she didn't have to wonder for long, because she soon found herself screaming his name again and again: on the floor, in her bed, in the shower.

Johanna Mason fucking loved Denmark, and Denmark loved fucking Johanna Mason.

**.**

**ooo**

**.**

The sex had been so mind-blowing that when Johanna woke up alone the next morning, she wondered whether she had hallucinated the entire thing. She hadn't touched psilocybin or anything remotely like that in a long, _long_ time, but in the cold light of day she had to admit that the kind of sex she'd just had—or thought she'd had—was some shamanic shit. Sex like _that _was something that only happened once, possibly twice a millennium, obviously never to the same person.

Johanna slid out of bed and padded to the bathroom. He wasn't there. She wandered into the kitchen. No, not there either.

She had almost convinced herself that Darius had been a figment of her imagination when he walked through the door, balancing a paper bag and two cups of coffee in his muscular arms.

"Good morning to you, too," he said, his eyes appreciatively taking in her naked body.

"Jesus," she hissed, grabbing a tea towel to try to cover herself, and failing pitifully.

He raised his eyebrows in amusement. "It's nothing I haven't seen before." _Or touched, or licked up and down, _Johanna thought, but Darius wisely held his tongue for now.

"Why are you still here?" she wanted to know.

Darius took it in stride, setting his purchases down on the kitchen table and taking out the contents of the paper bag. "I didn't know what you liked," he said, taking out several pieces of pretzel-shaped pastries, "so I bought a few different kinds of _kringler_. And I got you a black coffee and a latte—I'll take whatever you don't want."

"Um, I'll have the black coffee," Johanna said uncertainly. "And, uh… thank you?"

Darius chuckled. "Maybe we should start over." He held his hand out to her. "Hello, my name is Darius. Darius Johanssen."

"You've got to be kidding me." Not to think way, _way_ too far into the extremely hypothetical future, but if she married this dude and took his name, she would literally be Jo McJo. Even if she didn't take his name, Katniss would never let her hear the end of it.

"No, I'm perfectly serious," he grinned. "We had sex, let's see... three times last night, plus a fourth time earlier this morning. Yes, we used condoms each time, and yes, we established that neither of us have any diseases."

Her mind alternated between utterly blank and utterly confused as Johanna accepted his handshake. "Hello, I'm… Johanna. Johanna Mason." _Great, now he knows your real last name, too. Dammit, get your shit together, Jo._

"Nice to meet you again, Johanna," he replied. "Don't worry—I'm not a serial killer. In actual fact, I'm a productive member of society and gainfully employed as a linguist."

Two thoughts entered her mind: first of all, that productive members of society could turn out to be serial killers, too.

And second of all, _you bet your tight Danish ass you're a linguist_.

Johanna shook her head free of the memory of his tongue _on _her and then _inside _her. He'd been so _good_.

His eyes twinkled when he smiled, and Johanna realized with a start that they were mismatched: his left eye was green, and his right eye was hazel. _Heterochromia iridium_. She had never seen it up close before. She'd certainly never slept with anyone who had it.

"An actual linguist, I mean," Darius clarified cheekily, raking a hand through his ginger hair. "You know, languages, translation, that sort of thing."

Now, redheads, she had slept with a _lot _of those. But no one, redhead or not, ever made her feel the way Darius did last night or this morning, the way he made her feel _now_ just by looking at her. She'd never orgasmed so much before, not even with the man she once thought was the love of her life. Not even with Rafe Cresta.

_Fuck_.

**.**

**ooo**

**.**

_Somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean_

"What's taking so long?" Annie grumbled as she pressed the flight attendant call button again. "I asked for coffee fifteen minutes ago."

Madge lifted her eyes up from the books she had spread out across her meal tray. "That's weird. They were pretty responsive earlier."

Annie drummed her fingertips on the armrest and exhaled impatiently. "I'm going over there to get it myself. Want anything from the galley?"

"Um, some fruit would be nice," Madge answered, selecting a book and opening it to a random chapter. "Thanks."

_It was the merchant Bjarni Herjólfrsson, or so the Viking sagas say, who was the first European to lay eyes on the Americas._

_One summer Bjarni set sail for Greenland to visit his parents, who had gone with Erik the Red to establish a colony there. But winds and rain battered his ship and blew it off course until Bjarni found himself in the waters of a strange and foreign land, densely forested and mountainous. Though the land seemed rich and the climate hospitable, Bjarni ignored the pleas of his crew to explore it, and did not rest until he was reunited with his father and mother._

_In Greenland, Bjarni told many a man about his adventure, but none took interest except for Erik's son Leif. Leif bought the merchant's ship, and steered it in the direction whence Bjarni had come. Leif and his men found the place the merchant had described, and called it Vinland. There they stayed for the winter, returning to Greenland in the spring._

_Leif traveled to Vinland once more in the year that followed, before living out the rest of his days in Greenland. His brothers, sisters, and crew continued to journey to Vinland in his stead, seeking out food, furs, and timber. _

_What became of their settlement, no-one knew, for after those pioneering voyages the skalds fell silent on the fate of the Norse in Vinland. Perhaps it was because the Northmen, as fearsome as they were, no longer wished to take part in the hostilities that came hand in hand with colonization. Perhaps it was because they had all intermarried with the native inhabitants of the land, and no longer needed to live apart from them. Whatever the reason, over time the houses they had built fell to ruin, and the people of the Americas found brief respite from the Europeans, until Ferdinand and Isabella of Spain sent forth the Italian Cristoforo Colombo._

Annie reappeared a few minutes later and handed Madge an apple. "Sorry, no strawberries," she teased her best friend.

"Thanks," Madge said, accepting the apple and biting into it. "So was the call button broken or something?"

Annie rolled her eyes. "There weren't even any flight attendants in the galley. They were all fawning over someone in business class. I think it was a celebrity, but I didn't see who."

"Wouldn't we have noticed if there was someone famous at the airport?"

"Eh," Annie shrugged. "Could've boarded at MSP."

After five years of flying all over the world for her research, Annie had a habit of assuming that everyone knew the codes of all the airports and airlines in existence, and it took Madge a few seconds to register what she meant: Minneapolis – St. Paul, where the plane had briefly landed to pick up more passengers. They hadn't needed to disembark, so Madge had barely noticed the stopover.

Madge watched Annie tear open a packet of Splenda and dump it into her coffee. "When did you start using artificial sweeteners?" she asked in surprise.

"I didn't," Annie replied. "They were out of sugar cubes."

**.**

**ooo**

**.**

"Here you go, Mr. Odair," the blonde flight attendant gushed. "I found another pack of sugar cubes for you."

"You are the absolute sweetest," Finn drawled, flashing his trademark million-watt smile. His eyes flickered briefly at her name tag before he looked back up and winked at her flirtatiously. "Angelique. You're an angel, Angelique. What would I do without you?"

Gale waited until Angelique and the small horde of flight attendants who had come with her were out of earshot before he snorted. "Man, you lay it on thick."

"Nothing wrong with being appreciative," Finn opined. "You're just jealous of my charm."

"Well, your charm didn't seem to work on that Annie girl you're so hung up over," Gale pointed out. Maybe he was buzzed from the beer, or maybe he'd gone slightly insane since Katniss broke up with him last week, but in the past hour or so he had started to think of Finnick Odair as a longtime friend—practically a blood brother—instead of a famous person who just happened to sit next to him on a plane.

Finn lifted an eyebrow. "So that's how it is? We're taking cheap shots at each other now?" He popped a sugar cube into his mouth and smirked. "You may have lost your girlfriend to a fucking _priest_, mate."

Gale let out a low whistle. "Too soon, Finn, too soon."

"You started it," Finn grinned. "You know what I reckon, though? This is destiny knocking on your door. I mean, Katniss breaks up with you, and the next day your old professor's calling about a job in Europe. If that's not a sign, I don't know what is."

_Destiny_. What a joke. Up until a week ago, he'd thought Katniss was his destiny. Gale tipped his head back and emptied the contents of his can of beer into his mouth.

"Who knows? You might meet your real one true love on this trip," Finn speculated. "She might even be on this plane right now. For all we know, it's Angelique."

Gale grimaced. "I'm more into brunettes, myself." Specifically, brunettes who could kill a squirrel with an arrow straight through the eye.

"I thought I had a type, too," Finn said. "But true love had other ideas."

"Did you know right away?" Gale asked. "Was it love at first sight with Annie?"

Finn contemplated the question for a while, rubbing the surface of the silver bracelet on his left wrist as he did. "No," he said at last. "She crept up on me."

**.**

**ooo**

**.**

After another hour, Finn's sugar buzz wore off, and the Australian pulled a sleep mask over his eyes. "Wake me up when we're in Reykjavík," he instructed Gale, yawning as he adjusted the flaps on either side of his head rest. "Like, literally shake me. I swear I can sleep through the apocalypse. Or, more appropriately since we're going to Iceland, Ragnarok."

_Ragnarok_.

Gale found himself retrieving his backpack and pulling out the book Vick had bought for him. Vick had inherited his love of mythology from their father, and Gale remembered being tucked into bed with stories about Edward Hawthorne's favorite Norse god, Thor, when Gale himself was much younger. _Thor, also known as Thunor (þunor) in Old English, and Donar in Old High German. Donner is German for thunder._ For some reason his dad kept stressing that, and as a result Gale still knew it by heart twenty years later.

Ragnarok was supposed to be a scary story, among other things a cautionary tale about lying and going back on one's word, but what Gale remembered most was the way Thor and Midgard's serpent defeated each other. "Thor killed the snake with his strength," he recalled gleefully telling Thom and Bristel when they were seven years old. "And the snake killed Thor with his bad breath." The three of them had dissolved into fits of laughter.

He thumbed through the well-worn book, admiring the vintage look of the cover. He held it up to his face and breathed in, expecting nothing else but the smell of paper, ink, and leather; the familiar odor of the well-stocked shelves they had at home. Edward Hawthorne had never been a rich man, but he prized his books more than most of his other material possessions.

But all Gale could smell from this volume in particular was that sweet, faintly milky scent he had caught a whiff of earlier while he was hugging Posy. Why would an old, old book smell like babies? For that matter, why would _any_ book smell like babies?

_You're just imagining things, Gale._ Posy had said it then, and she would say it again now, if she were there in the plane with him.

Gale flipped to the first page. _This is the story of Sægeirr Silvertongue, firstborn son of Finnbjorn and his beloved wife Anlaug, twin brother of Unna Ravenhair._

He glanced at his new friend, fast asleep in his seat. _Wait until Finn gets a load of this,_ he chuckled to himself. By some twist of fate, his brother had given him a book about some Viking whose parents were almost literally named Finn and Annie. _If that's not a sign, I don't know what is._

Gale turned his eyes back to the book and started reading.

**.**

**ooo**

**.**

"_There is nothing to be afraid of, son," Edward said to the little boy who hid his face in his father's shirt. _

"_But the thunder is so loud," young Gale whispered, sniffling. "And the lightning destroys everything it strikes."_

_Edward stroked the riotous mass of dark hair on his son's head. "What is thunder? It is the rage of Thor as he battles the frost giants and the trolls. What is lightning? It is Thor's hammer Mjolnir, flying across the sky."_

_Gale nodded, trying to put on a brave face to make his father proud._

_His father smiled and tapped his finger on Gale's chest, right over his heart. "You were born on a night like this," Edward told him, lowering his voice as if he were sharing the secrets of the universe. "That is why your mother and I named you Gale: after the winds, after the storm. You have no reason to fear the thunder or the lightning. You are strongest in a thunderstorm."_

**.**

**ooo**

**.**

Finn hadn't been joking. He slept like the dead. He slept through a heart-stopping five minutes of the worst turbulence through a thunderstorm that Gale had ever experienced in his life. Gale was just about to slap him awake when Finn finally lifted the sleep mask from his eyes and stretched out his tanned arms. "Are we there yet?" he mumbled groggily.

"Dude, surfers are supposed to be good at waking up," Gale said. "Isn't that your whole schtick? Getting to the beach and catching the waves before everyone else?"

"I'm a frequent flyer, for fuck's sake," Finn yawned, scratching the side of his face where his five o'clock shadow had doubled overnight. "If I didn't sleep on planes I'd never sleep at all."

If anything, though, the flight attendants went even crazier over Finn's bedhead, unshaven appearance, and sleepy baby eyes. "You poor thing," Angelique cooed. "Hope you have sweet dreams soon."

"You bet I will, angel," Finn said, giving the blonde a drowsy, lazy smile.

Finn turned to Gale as they walked off the plane and into Keflavík International Airport. "I've got a chauffeur waiting for me," he told Gale, pulling a navy blue knit hat over his trademark red hair as he slowly regained his mental acuity. "Where're you staying?"

"The Radisson," Gale answered. He hoped the company would stay this generous even after they employed him, if they employed him at all.

"Cool, same," Finn replied. "You can just ride with me."

They arrived at the baggage carousel, and Gale was acutely aware of the whispering that started when the passengers from economy class recognized Finn. It made him uncomfortable, but Finn didn't seem to mind, signing autographs and even posing for photos with a couple of teenage girls.

After about ten minutes of standing around and anxiously twisting the silver ring on his finger, Gale spotted the familiar gray of his suitcase at the far end of the baggage carousel. Unable to wait any longer, he sprinted to where it was trundling along on the conveyor belt.

It wasn't until he reached out for the suitcase that he realized, belatedly, that it wasn't his. It was the exact same size, color, brand, and style, but this one had a name embroidered across the front in black letters. Gale's heart leaped into his throat at the familiar word. _Donner is German for thunder._

His hand brushed against pale, slender fingers, and Gale felt as if he had been struck by lightning.

"Sorry," he rasped, jerking his hand back.

"It's all right," a quiet voice said. A female voice. An American voice.

Gale turned his head, barely able to breathe. The bright lights of the airport glinted off a silver pendant, shaped like an upside-down cross or capital letter T, at the base of a creamy throat. Gale would recognize that symbol anywhere.

_What is lightning?_ Edward Hawthorne had asked. _It is Thor's hammer Mjolnir, flying across the sky._

Gale slowly lifted his gaze, committing every feature to memory as they were revealed to him. Soft, pink lips, moist and dewy and slightly parted. Sapphire blue, almost indigo eyes. Tousled blonde hair flowing over her shoulders like a river of gold.

He had never, ever seen anyone so achingly beautiful. Yet, at the same time, he felt as if he had been gazing at her his entire life, seeing his soul reflected in the endless depths of her eyes.

From behind him, Gale heard Finn's voice, dazed and astonished. "Annie?"

And from behind the young woman with the blue eyes, Gale saw another lovely face, one he recognized from Finn's photos. Annie's large, expressive green eyes widened as she whispered, "Finn?"

The four of them stood there, rooted to the spot, until Gale remembered his manners and quickly helped the blonde with the suitcase he'd thought was his. "I, uh, guess our friends know each other," he managed to say.

She glanced up into his eyes again, and quickly averted her gaze. "Yeah... I guess they do."

"My name is Gale." _After the winds, after the storm. _

She smiled shyly, making Gale's chest bloom with warmth. _You have no reason to fear the thunder or the lightning._

Her hand flew up to touch the Mjolnir pendant resting on her collarbone. "My name is Madge."

_You are strongest in a thunderstorm._

* * *

><p>.<p>

.

**A/N:**

My apologies for any inaccuracies re: neurochemistry, psychology, pharmaceuticals, etc.

_Fristaden Christiania _or Freetown Christiania is an autonomous city-within-a-city (kind of like a commune) in Copenhagen. It is known, among other things, for cannabis.

If that last flashback with Gale and Edward gave you déjà vu, it's because it's a modernization of a similar conversation Gæl and Hallvard had in _Enthralled_ Chapter 10.


	4. Chapter 4

Scandinavian folklore tells us about the Vardøger, a guardian spirit that looks, sounds, or even smells like a person. It manifests itself before that person physically arrives at his or her destination, giving those who perceive it a sense of reverse déjà vu.

Unlike the Doppelgänger, considered by many to be an omen of misfortune or even death, the Vardøger is considered good luck to those who have it. In modern times, many of the inexplicable premonitions that people experience in daily life—the sound of footsteps, a flash of the color of someone's hair, or even the lingering scent of a loved one—are examples of the phenomenon that the descendants of the Vikings call the Vardøger.

**.**

**ooo**

**. **

_Oslo_

"Hello? Hello—Gale? Is that you? Can you hear me?"

Thom Devereux plugged his finger into the ear that wasn't pressed against his phone, trying to make sense of the racket that was coming from the other end. He had called Gale Hawthorne, one of his oldest and closest friends in the world, immediately after getting Gale's text about arriving safely in Reykjavík. Even though Gale was technically a thousand miles away from the apartment Thom shared with two work friends in Oslo, it was still a vast improvement from last week, when Gale was _four_ thousand miles away in Minnesota.

"Yeah, I can hear you," Gale shouted. "It's just—my friend is kind of going nuts right now—hell's _teeth_, Finn!"

Another voice replaced Gale's on the line. "Oi, Thom," it boomed. "It is Thom, right?"

"Uh, yeah," Thom said, confused by the newcomer's accent—why was Gale traveling with an Australian?—and by the sound of his front door unlocking. His roommates, most likely, back from their weekend market run. Thom could've sworn that they had come home ten minutes ago.

"Do you believe in fate, Thom?" the stranger wanted to know.

Delly Cartwright popped her head into Thom's room. "Lakshmi's going to make a curry," the half-English, half-Norwegian told him as she twisted her long, chestnut brown hair into a messy bun. "Can you help me make the samosas?"

Thom gave her a thumbs up. "I'll be there in a minute."

But the Australian on the phone wasn't done with him yet. "Destiny? Soulmates?" he prodded. "Do you think there's someone out there who's meant for you?"

"Yeah, I do," Thom admitted. "I actually do."

When Thom was eighteen years old, he'd had the most intense, vivid dream of his life about a girl. It had shaken him to the core. But as most dreams go, he'd promptly forgotten everything about her—what she looked like, what she sounded like—two seconds after waking up. Well, almost everything: he'd managed to hold on to a fleeting memory of kissing soft, _soft_ skin, of running his hands through silky golden hair. Of the feeling that she was the girl he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, and that he couldn't possibly settle for anyone else.

Since then, Thom had dated blondes exclusively, earning a bit of a reputation for himself in the process. Not that he cared what other people thought. Everyone, even Gale and their friend Bristel, could make fun of him all they wanted, but Thom was convinced that the girl in his dreams was the girl _of _his dreams. If fixating on hair color helped narrow down the field, then so be it.

The stranger on the phone crowed in triumph, interrupting his reverie. "I like you, Thom," he informed him. "You and I, we're going to get along just fine."

There was a scuffle. "Sorry about that," Gale apologized, slightly out of breath from wrestling his phone back.

"Who was that guy?"

"Finnick Odair."

"Finnick O_dair_? The pro surfer? _The_ Finnick Odair?"

"The one and only," Gale confirmed. "We sat next to each other on the plane and got to talking."

"He's dated more Victoria's Secret models than Adam Levine!"

Thom could practically hear his friend grimace. "Really?"

Gale had inherited his musical tastes from his dad—just one of the many manifestations of his hero worship—and as a consequence automatically distrusted every musician who arrived on the scene after 1999. Didn't matter that in 1999, Gale, Thom, and Bristel were snotty twelve-year-olds who thought they were hardcore just because they had managed to learn Led Zeppelin's "Immigrant Song" on guitar.

"Remember when we were watching the fashion show on TV last December?" Thom reminded him. "Finnick Odair was in the audience. I think he was even interviewed for a bit."

"Huh. I forgot about that." Gale fell silent.

"Why was he rambling about soulmates?"

"It's a long story," Gale told him. "I—hang on, Thom—are we leaving now?" His voice became muffled, as if he had his hand over the phone, for a few seconds before the sound went back to normal.

"I'll tell you all about it soon," Gale promised. "If not tonight, then whatever time I wake up after the jet lag hits."

"Sure, no problem," Thom said. "I'm going out with this girl tomorrow, though, so if I don't pick up you can assume things are going well."

"Another blonde?"

"Uh huh." Thom grinned. Norway was good to him. He wondered if he could manage to turn his three-month stay into a more permanent assignment, like what Professor Latier was probably going to give Gale in Sweden.

"_Thomas_!" Delly shouted from the kitchen. "These potatoes aren't going to peel themselves!"

Cartwright was usually the friendliest, most cheerful person in the world, but she could also be absolutely terrifying when she wanted to. "I'm coming!" he yelled.

Gale laughed. "Your roommate's already got you wrapped around her finger. Why aren't you going out with her? Make an exception, date a brunette for once."

"Dell?" Now it was Thom's turn to make a face. "We're just buddies."

Not that Delly wasn't a gorgeous, amazing person—she _was_—but she wasn't his destiny. Why would Thom waste her time and his? The girl of his dreams was out there somewhere, he just knew it. Thom was going to find her or die trying.

**.**

**ooo**

**.**

_Reykjavík_

When Madge and Annie reemerged from the ladies' room at the arrivals hall, the beautiful man with the gray eyes (_Gale_, Madge reminded herself, _his name is Gale_) was still there, talking into his phone while the famous Finnick Odair bounced up and down beside him like an excitable puppy, pulling his knit hat lower down on his face as if to hide his dimpled smile and flushed cheeks.

So she hadn't imagined it after all.

"Finnick's really happy to see you," Madge whispered to Annie. "Maybe you were wrong about him. Maybe he _was _serious."

Annie covered her face with her hands and made a soft whimpering noise. "I spend years hiding from him, and we end up on the same flight to freaking _Iceland_. What are the odds?"

Madge knew all about Finnick Odair. Or, at least, everything that she needed to know about him as far as her best friend was concerned. Annie had met Finnick while she was doing her master's degree in Australia, around the same time that he was starting his own company after spending his early career endorsing the bigger, more established surf brands. The first time they had run into each other, it was at a coastal cleanup event: Finnick with his athlete friends, and Annie with her research team.

"It totally looked like a jocks-versus-nerds kind of showdown," Annie had joked over Skype, when she told Madge about that first encounter. "But they were nice and laid back, and really passionate about the environment."

One thing that had unnerved Annie about Finnick, however, was "the way that he schmoozed with VIPs and potential investors".

"He flirts with anyone and everyone," Annie had recounted. "And people just eat it up. They throw money at him left and right. As an academic, I respect his ability to get funding—no one else can get sponsors like he does—but it's hard to tell when the schmoozing ends and genuine human interaction begins. Every time he starts talking to me, I have to stop and think: is he actually interested in what I have to say? Or is he just networking as usual? It makes for a lot of awkward silences."

Madge had been an entire hemisphere away at the time, but as far as she could tell Finnick actually _was_ interested, not just in what Annie had to say, but also in Annie herself. Finnick was constantly traveling for competitions and other commitments, but he would fly in at least once a month and inevitably run into Annie under increasingly implausible circumstances.

"I'm calling it," Madge had declared as early as the second month. "He likes you. He's wearing you down until you like him back."

Annie had scoffed at the idea. "Please. Every time I go to the supermarket, I see his ugly mug splashed across the cover of some tabloid, and it's with a different model or actress or heiress each time. Besides, even if he did like me, long-distance relationships never last. Rafe and Jo couldn't make it work; who am I to think that Finn and I can?"

**.**

**ooo**

**.**

"So what are your plans for the next few days?" Finn asked when the four of them were piled into the van that had come to pick him up at the airport. It was a tight squeeze, with Gale and Madge's nearly identical suitcases, Finn and Annie's hiking packs, a crate of wetsuits, and four surfboards. But they all managed to squeeze in, with Finn in the front seat and Annie, Madge, and Gale in the back.

"Work," Annie answered, a little too quickly in Gale's opinion. She was a Ph.D. student doing marine biology research at the University of Iceland, and her apartment near the Vesturbær campus just happened to be a five-minute drive from the Radisson hotel downtown where Finn and Gale were staying. "Meetings with my adviser, crunching numbers, that sort of thing. I'm basically chaining myself to a computer for the next few days."

"Surely you have _some_ time to entertain your lovely friend," Finn responded easily, and from the look on Annie's face Gale knew Finn had called her bluff. "Or are you fine with Gale and me showing Madge around town without you?"

"I don't mind exploring on my own," Madge hastened to say. "Most of the places I want to visit are only open during the day anyway, while Annie is at the lab."

"Madge has books that she needs to be translated from Old Norse," Annie told them. "I was going to introduce her to some of the linguists and medieval scholars at the university."

"That sounds cool," Gale said, impressed. "My dad and my brother are really into Norse myths and literature. Vick even gave me one of the sagas to read on the flight."

"Really?" Madge smiled. "Is it Njál's saga? Egil's?"

Gale pulled the book out of his jacket. "Uh, some guy named Sægeirr."

"I've never heard of that one before," Madge remarked. "Can I see?"

There was another jolt of static electricity when their fingertips brushed, and before Gale could stop himself he was wondering what it would feel like to kiss those pale pink lips. At this rate, he was going to spontaneously combust before he even got tongue.

"This is beautiful," Madge breathed, touching the leather cover reverently. "Wow." She opened the book and inhaled deeply before looking up at him, embarrassed. "Sorry, I just love the smell of old books."

Gale suddenly recalled the baby smell from earlier, and leaned in closer to sniff the book again. "Weird," he said. "It smelled different on the plane." Now all he could smell, besides worn leather and brittle paper, was a faint scent of green tea and citrus.

Annie was watching him like a hawk. "That's Madge you're smelling," she said pointedly. "Madge and the perfume her ex-boyfriend gave her."

Madge blinked, and glanced down at Gale's book. "Oh, look," Madge said in a neutral tone. "Sægeirr's parents were named Finn and Annie."

**.**

**ooo**

**.**

Annie was even more beautiful than Finn had remembered: all luminous skin and wide eyes, masses of dark hair that made her look like a mermaid who had lost her tail and was stumbling onto land for the first time.

Seeing her at the airport, finding out she'd been on the same flight as him _the whole time_… it had nearly given him a heart attack. He saw his opening and dove in without a second thought, eager to pick up from where they left off, naïvely thinking they would fall straight into each other's arms because surely that was what people did in the face of so much _destiny_.

But they didn't fall into each other's arms. Annie was distant and cold, and she looked like she didn't want to be caught dead with him. It was only because of her friend Madge that she'd agreed to let Finn give them a ride home.

And speaking of Madge, it was clear to anyone who had eyes that Gale had become smitten with her on the spot. But every time Gale so much as _looked _at the blonde, Annie was there, trying to stare him down. Even after Madge gave her cheek about the characters in Gale's Viking book—another incredible coincidence, and Finn made a mental note to borrow it the next chance he got—Annie sat there and silently radiated disapproval.

"Can you tell me what this is about?" Finn asked quietly, pulling Annie into the kitchen of her apartment so that Gale could help Madge with her luggage without Annie breathing down his neck.

"What do you mean?" Annie folded her arms across her chest.

"You're acting like you can't wait to get rid of me. Like we were never friends. You're being rude to Gale, too. He's just being nice to Madge."

At this, Annie's face softened. "I'm sorry about that," she said, sounding genuinely remorseful. "I'll apologize to Gale. It's just…"

"Yes?"

"Madge is very vulnerable right now," Annie said in a low but fierce voice. "Her parents were murdered two weeks ago. In a school shooting."

Finn sucked in his breath sharply. "Shit," he said. "That's fucked up."

"She also recently broke up with her boyfriend," Annie continued. "That's why I brought her to Iceland. To take her mind off all of that. The last thing she needs is to fall in love with some pretty boy who's just going to break her heart when she…" At this, she faltered, her chin quivering slightly. She took a deep breath and looked at him defiantly. "When she realizes she can't keep him."

As bitter as Annie sounded, her words gave Finn hope. Did she mean what he thought she meant?

"You could have kept me, Annie," he said, swallowing hard. "You know how I felt about you. How I still feel about you. _You_ were the one disappeared on _me_."

"I graduated," Annie corrected him. "I graduated, I went home, then I went to Iceland. It wasn't my fault you were in Hawaii at the time."

Finn pulled at the hair on the back of his head, making it stick out awkwardly. "That was the Billabong Masters, Annie. You know I couldn't miss that."

"I didn't ask you to miss it. I didn't ask you to do anything." Her green eyes shone. "And I'm never going to ask you to do anything, ever, because I know I'll only be disappointed."

"Disappointed?" Finn echoed in disbelief. "You were the one who stopped answering my emails."

"It was a student email address. I lost access after I graduated."

"You never gave me a different address. And you're never on Facebook."

"Facebook is stupid." Annie blew a strand of hair out of her face.

Finn exhaled, his shoulders sagging. "Can we just start over?" he asked despondently. "You, me, and a clean slate. You might not want me—not in the way I want you to—but I still want to be your friend. I don't want to lose you again."

Finn waited for what seemed like an eternity before Annie nodded her head. "Okay," she whispered. "Let's be friends."

**.**

**ooo**

**. **

Madge didn't actually _need_ any help, no more than she needed Gale to carry her suitcase out of the van, then roll it into the elevator in Annie's building and down the corridor to Annie's apartment. But Finn and Annie were having some sort of long-lost lovers' quarrel in the kitchen, and Gale didn't want to be anywhere near _that_. So he hung out with Madge in Annie's room while the blonde started to unpack.

"I take it you and Annie have been good friends for a long time," Gale said, mainly to distract himself from staring _too _much whenever Madge bent over to get something from her suitcase.

"Ages," Madge replied. She was tall and long-legged—about five foot nine, if not five foot ten—and _damn _she looked good in skinny jeans. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, you were kind of sassing her a little," Gale teased her. "Back in the van."

Madge straightened up and regarded him with mock seriousness. "I have no idea what you're talking about," she deadpanned.

Gale chuckled. "Don't pretend you didn't do it on purpose. I recognize passive aggression when I see it. Back where I come from, that's all part of being 'Minnesota nice'."

"Annie knows I love her, and I know this is just her way of protecting me," Madge said. "Wait, you're from Minnesota? I know a few people from there." She rattled off a few names, but Gale shook his head at each one.

"No, sorry," he said. "They don't ring a bell."

Madge tried again. "How about Johanna Mason?"

Gale's jaw dropped open. "How do you know Johanna Mason?"

"She went out with Annie's brother a few years ago," Madge said. "They were pretty serious for a while."

"You're kidding," Gale said. As far as Gale knew, Jo had been in exactly one serious relationship her entire life. "Annie's brother is—" He frowned, trying to remember. "Raphael?"

"Rafe," Madge said with a smile. "Close enough."

"I knew it was one of the Ninja Turtles," Gale quipped.

Madge laughed. Gale liked hearing her laugh. He liked it a _lot_.

"Don't you laugh at my Ninja Turtles," Gale said, pretending to be offended.

"I love the Ninja Turtles," Madge told him. "Raphael was my favorite."

"Mine, too. He was badass. A rebel. Didn't play by the rules."

"Yeah." Madge twisted a strand of blonde hair between her fingers, suddenly looking pensive. "It's a small world, isn't it? Finn and Annie meeting again after all this time, in Iceland of all places. You knowing Jo. How do you know her, by the way?"

"She was, ah, the roommate of my ex-girlfriend." For the first time since meeting Madge, thoughts of Katniss filled Gale's mind, and it made him feel strangely guilty. Even though Katniss had been the one who dumped him, and in any case it had been an entire week since then, for some reason Gale felt as if he was cheating on her just by being attracted to Madge. Besides, how would he feel if that priest guy, or anyone else really, moved in on Katniss so soon after their eight-year relationship imploded?

"Jo works in Denmark now," Gale told her, just to have something to say. "In Copenhagen."

"Really?" Madge looked intrigued.

"Yeah. I was thinking of visiting her. And one of my best friends is in Oslo right now—I'm definitely going to visit him." Then, throwing all his guilt out the window, he said recklessly: "Want to come along? It won't cost much if we fly with a budget airline."

Miraculously, Madge seemed to be considering it. "It's definitely interesting," she said slowly. "I've never been to those places before, and if I'm learning about Vikings I might as well travel to the rest of the Nordic countries."

"I agree," Gale said, his heart hammering in his chest. "You should."

Madge narrowed her eyes at him. "How do I know you're not, like, a sex offender or something?"

"I'm insulted, Madge. Raping and pillaging was so ninth century."

Madge laughed again. Gale could get used to that sound.

"Let's do it," Madge said resolutely, her eyes flashing blue fire. "Let's go."

* * *

><p>.<p>

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**A/N:** I feel horrible for not updating on time :( I've noticed that, in all of my fics, it's always the fourth chapter that is the hardest to write.

Many thanks to **Messy . Chestnut** for telling me about the Vardøger! (I had to put spaces in the username, otherwise FFN would redact it.)

Finally, you didn't think I could write a story about U.S.-ians visiting Iceland without referencing the "Immigrant Song", did you? :)

**P.S.** Commentary and references for the third chapter just went up on my Tumblr (**damndonnergirls**). I had fun writing it, so do have a look when you can! I hope to post commentary on this chapter sometime this weekend.


	5. Chapter 5

_St. Paul, Minnesota_

The muscles in her shoulders and upper back screamed at her as Katniss drew the arrow, pulling the string until it was pressing against her cheek. Her features twisted into a grimace as she felt the burn. _That's going to be sore tomorrow._

She was so out of practice, it was laughable. It was a far cry from college, when her scholarship depended on her performance on the archery team. But between work and Gale's increasing demands on her time—up until their breakup, of course—Katniss hadn't touched a bow and arrow in almost a year. Which was ironic, since hunting was one of the first things they had bonded over in the earlier years of their friendship.

Katniss didn't _look _out of shape: thanks to eating healthy and running a few laps around Lake Como once a week, she still looked fairly athletic, and her weight only fluctuated within one or two pounds of what it was when she graduated. (Prim, on the other hand, was snacking her way through medical school, resulting in fuller cheeks, wider hips, and love handles that Rory couldn't keep his hands off of whenever he thought Katniss wasn't paying attention.) But today, at the archery range where she first learned to shoot when she was twelve, the effects of neglecting her sport and hunching over a desk in a government office five days a week were making themselves abundantly clear.

Katniss let go of the arrow, and it made a satisfying _thunk _as it lodged itself firmly in the target just a few inches shy of the center, in the nine-point range.

"Nice shot," her father remarked from his wheelchair.

Katniss made a face. "It'll do."

"My turn."

In one swift motion, Adrian Everdeen nocked an arrow in his bow, raised it to eye level, and released. The arrow flew straight into the inner ten-point ring, and Katniss knew without looking that her father was very pleased with himself.

"Pretty good for a cripple," he said smugly.

Her father would never walk again, and for a time he had fallen into a deep depression as a result of his disability, but he was alive and that was all that mattered to Katniss.

"Just you wait," Katniss told him. "Give me a month and I'll blow you out of the water."

"I'm sure of it." His broad smile turned wistful. "I'm glad we came out here today."

"So am I, Dad."

Adrian cleared his throat. "I know it's not my place, but—" he hesitated. "Edward says Gale didn't take your breakup very well, so I just want to see how you were doing."

"I'm fine, Dad." Katniss felt her nose start to sting, a sure sign that she was going to start crying soon unless she did something about it. "Really. And Gale is in Europe now—he'll get over me soon enough."

"Okay, Kat." Her father was the only one who called her that. Well, her father and Johanna, when she was teasing her. Which was often. Even now that Jo was living in Denmark, she still managed to tease Katniss almost as much as when they'd been sharing a dorm room.

"Johanna called," Katniss said, changing the subject. "She's seeing someone new."

Of course, those weren't the exact same words Jo had used. More like, _I met this insanely hot guy and I literally cannot stop fucking him. Do you know how expensive condoms are in Copenhagen? _Which, honestly, was as close to a declaration of love as Jo got these days. But Katniss wasn't about to quote Johanna Mason verbatim in front of her father.

"Good for her," Adrian said. "Listen, Kat—I'm sorry if you ever felt any pressure from me to keep seeing Gale, or even to go out with him in the first place. It was never my intention to make you think that was what I wanted. Whomever you want to be in a relationship with, or even if you don't want to be in a relationship at all, I'm going to support you. I'm going to be happy for you. And the same goes for Prim."

"There's nothing to apologize for," she said. "I didn't feel any pressure."

Her father smiled wanly. "I suppose I should be glad that your mother and I raised you to be such a terrible liar."

Katniss sighed. What was she supposed to say? _I went out with Gale because I was young, immature, and selfish. I didn't want my best friend paying attention to anyone other than me. I _stayed_ with Gale because you would have died in that cave-in if it weren't for his father, and being with Gale made me feel as if—in some infinitesimal way—the debt had been repaid. I stayed, even when things were going from bad to worse, because of _course_ Prim had to start dating Rory, and I didn't want to be the one to break up our big, happy Everdeen–Hawthorne family. _

In fact, if Posy hadn't let slip that Gale was planning to propose, Katniss wasn't sure she would have worked up the courage to break up with him that day at Minnehaha Falls. "I felt _some _pressure," she admitted, reaching into her quiver for another arrow. "But now I'm fine."

Her next shot landed dead center. If she and her father had been using the same target, her arrow would have landed right on top of his. It might even have split it in two. "See?" she said, pumping her fist in the air as she turned back to face him. "I'm fine."

**.**

**ooo**

**. **

Peeta was kneading dough when Katniss walked into the soup kitchen.

"Katniss," he said, his handsome face lighting up in surprise. "You're early."

"I'm sorry for missing last week," Katniss said simply. "Showing up early today was the least I could do. What's on the menu?"

"Minestrone," Peeta responded. "And you don't need to apologize, Katniss. I'm happy to take whatever you can give me." Katniss thought she saw the faintest hint of a blush on his cheeks. "I mean, that's the whole point of volunteering, right?"

"Yeah, but still. I made a promise, and I reneged on it."

Peeta used his arm to swipe a bead of sweat from his forehead. "Well, since you're feeling guilty, you may as well get started on the soup," he told her with an easy grin. "I've been soaking the beans all day, so they should be ready."

Katniss slipped on an apron and fell in beside him to wash her hands. Soon they were working in comfortable silence. "I know you brought us lamb stew and bread the other day," she said quietly as she chopped the cabbage. "Thank you."

"I thought you might not be feeling well," he admitted sheepishly. "I thought of bringing you chicken soup, but I knew you like lamb stew the best."

Katniss felt her chest tighten. Peeta was always like this: looking after everyone, putting everyone else's needs above his own. Did he have anyone to look after him? Katniss was overcome by a sudden rush of shame when she realized she didn't know the answer. She had felt an instant connection with Peeta ever since they met last year; with Johanna overseas, Prim busy with school and with Rory, and Gale being insufferable, Peeta made her feel a little less lonely. But the truth was that, though she often felt as if they had known each other forever, Katniss actually knew very little about this kind, selfless man. Did Peeta have family, friends, a girlfriend? When he dropped out of the seminary, was that because he had fallen in love? And if so, who was the lucky girl? As far as she could remember, he had never mentioned anyone before.

She stole a glance at Peeta to check if he was wearing a crucifix. He wasn't. But he had a surprisingly broad chest, something Katniss had never noticed before, or maybe something she had taken for granted after a decade of hanging out with Gale and his ridiculously large friends. And, dear lord, the way the muscles rippled in his arms. She could watch him knead dough all day.

"I guess you've heard about me and Gale," Katniss said, a little more loudly than she intended. She hadn't planned on talking about Gale—she'd be the first to admit she was horrible at communicating, one of the many things that had doomed their relationship from the start—but saying her ex-boyfriend's name made her feel… safe, somehow. _Safe from what?_

"I'm really sorry about that." Peeta turned to look at her, genuine unhappiness reflected in his clear, ice blue eyes. "Was it—amicable?"

"As amicable as can be expected after eight years." Katniss sighed. "Can I ask you something, Peeta?"

"Of course."

"Why did you enter the seminary?" Katniss asked softly. She had never asked before; she didn't like to pry. "And why did you leave?"

Peeta was silent for a moment. Katniss was about to tell him that he didn't have to talk about it if he didn't want to, when he opened his mouth and began to speak.

"My brother died of brain cancer when I was younger," he said quietly. "Josef and I were very close, and it was his faith that got him through the pain and helped him make his peace with his fate. When he passed away, I missed him so much that… that I subconsciously started taking on aspects of his personality and identity. My way of keeping his memories alive, I guess. He was gone, but his faith lived on through me.

"I'm not saying that was the only reason, of course," Peeta added quickly. "Our parents sent us to Catholic school, and I remember going to the chapel on campus and just staring in awe at the stained glass windows, the sculptures, the architecture. You know how much I geek out over art." He looked slightly embarrassed.

Katniss gestured at the mural on the wall: children playing in a meadow, surrounded by wildflowers. The mural she had watched Peeta himself paint not too long ago. "You have an amazing gift," she told him. "You should be proud."

"Thank you, Katniss." Peeta blushed again. "So, yeah. I went to Catholic school as a kid, and I grew up associating going to church with… peace, I guess. A safe haven where I could be alone with my thoughts. Sanctuary, as cliché as that sounds." He let out a short laugh. "It wasn't until much later that I realized that I just had a really shitty life at home, so anything that took me away from that was a godsend."

Katniss had to smile. "I didn't know you had such a mouth on you, Peeta. Now I'm thinking that you probably got kicked out of the seminary."

"No, no, that was my decision. I was disillusioned. As a priest, I would have to be a defender of the faith, and I'm sure you're aware there are some aspects of the Christian faith, and the way it's practiced in the Catholic Church, that are harder to defend than others."

"But things are looking up now, right?" Katniss wanted to know. "The new pope, isn't he trying to make changes for the better?"

"I'd like to think so," Peeta said. "But that's a problem in itself. Why wait until now to make those reforms? Why does it depend so much on the person in power?" He heaved a sigh. "I had too many doubts, too many questions, and nobody could answer them to my satisfaction. So I quit. It seems like a big deal, and it was, but it was also easier than you would think. I was just in pre-theology at the time—I was nowhere near getting my master's in divinity or being ordained or anything like that."

"Does that mean…" Katniss hesitated. "Does that mean you don't believe in God anymore?"

"I honestly don't know," Peeta said, furrowing his brow. "I want to believe there is a higher power. I want to believe that my life means something to someone, that all this isn't just random. But if it isn't random, then that means everything that has happened, everything that is happening, everything that _will_ happen… everything was all pre-destined, decided long before we were even born. And that includes the good _and_ the bad. I look around at all of the suffering and injustice in the world, and in my darkest moments I think… a god who lets that happen doesn't deserve my love, my faith, or my service." He looked at Katniss with pained eyes. "What do you think?"

"I didn't grow up religious, like you or your brother," Katniss said. "Our family would go to church sometimes, because our neighbors would get pretty hostile if we didn't. But it was complicated. We have some Native American blood through Dad, and he never felt comfortable with organized religion. He used to say, if God were real, you wouldn't have to believe. It would be like believing in the postman: completely pointless, because you know the postman exists, and whether you believe or not won't change a thing."

Peeta's lips quirked up in a smile. "He _used _to say that?"

Katniss snorted. "Well, he almost died in a mining accident when I was younger, and after that he was a bit more careful about the things he said, in case he pissed off the wrong god. Or, more accurately, the right god."

"Fair enough. But I asked you what _you _thought, Katniss, and you still haven't answered my question."

Katniss pondered silently for a while. "We didn't go to the same schools, but do you know that experiment they make kids do in science class? The one where you leave a glass of milk out on the counter for a week, and write down your observations as it went off. Then at the end you take a sample and look at it under a microscope."

"Yeah, I remember."

"I was thinking about it again the other day for some reason, and it struck me… there were millions of bacteria in that milk. Living things that I had indirectly created by leaving it out to spoil, giving them the right conditions to breed. What if that's how _we_ came to be? Someone—something—accidentally creating the perfect environment to support life?"

Peeta raised an eyebrow. "You think God is just some kid who forgot to put the milk back in the fridge?"

"It's not a perfect analogy, I know that. And it's not necessarily what I believe. But it would reconcile some of the things you were talking about, the things that don't add up otherwise. It would mean there _is_ a higher power, except he didn't really intend to create us, and that's why he doesn't care whether we suffer or not. He's not neglecting us on purpose, he's just… not really invested, and that's fine. Maybe he doesn't even know any of this is happening, because as far as he's concerned we're just bacteria in a glass of milk on his kitchen counter, and he's going to tip the glass over and pour us all down the sink anyway."

Peeta considered it. "Huh. I never thought of it that way."

"I guess the important question is… does it matter what we believe, in the grand scheme of things? Isn't it the height of arrogance, to think we are so important that God, or whatever force or power created the universe, cares what we think?"

"If there is such a thing as life after death, or heaven and hell, and if our beliefs influence what happens to us or where we end up, then yes. But if not…" Peeta chuckled wryly. "It's all too much to think about sometimes. See, this is why I dropped out, why I ended up where I am now. I figured, if there is a God, I'd rather serve by helping others. At least I know for sure that my actions weren't in vain. I'd make a difference to people's lives now, instead of waiting until after I die to find out."

Katniss allowed herself a small smile, a feeling of warmth spreading throughout her body. She liked talking to Peeta. Gale had always been the slightest bit jealous of him, but now that she and Gale weren't together anymore… well, now she could talk to Peeta all she wanted without feeling guilty.

Just then, Rue walked through the door, with her older brother Thresh and his girlfriend Emma in tow. "Katniss!" Rue exclaimed in delight. "We weren't sure if you were going to show up."

"I couldn't stay away," Katniss found herself saying. "I missed Peeta too much."

Emma's ginger eyebrows shot up. "Oh, you did, did you?"

"Helping Peeta, I mean," she corrected herself. "I missed helping Peeta too much. You know what I mean," she added defensively, feeling her face grow pink.

Thresh smirked. "Yeah, of course we do."

**.**

**ooo**

**.**

_Reykjavík_

Not only did Gale sleep through most of Sunday, missing two Skype calls from Thom and one from his mother in the process, but he also woke up at four a.m. on Monday—too late to go back to sleep, because he was supposed to meet with Professor Latier and his boss over breakfast in the hotel restaurant before their conference started, but at the same time too early to do anything. So he settled for doing pushups on the floor while he played back the voice messages that Finn had left on his hotel room phone while he was jet-lagged.

"Mate, I convinced Annie to let us take her and Madge out to dinner on Monday night. I have a few places in mind but I wanted to check with you first before I made reservations. Call me back when you get this."

"I swear to _God _if you're still asleep I'm going to kick your door down and—hang on, I have another call."

"I'm freaking out. My models all came down with strep throat at the same time and they're stuck in New York City. I can't do this photo shoot by myself! I'll try to line up some of the local models, but the shoot's on Tuesday and I don't know if anyone can do it on such short notice. Here's a thought… Can you fill in? Pretty please? The theme is modern Vikings. You'll get paid and everything, and I'll throw in a trip to the Blue Lagoon too. Talk soon."

Gale pulled himself up and walked over to the mirror. He wasn't blind; he knew he was easy on the eyes. One time back in college, he'd been roped into an amateur runway show, and they'd made a lot of money for charity. But he knew that looking good and doing well in a professional photo shoot were two different things altogether. Besides, who would take him seriously as a professional engineer after seeing pictures of him in a wetsuit, pretending to be a surfing Viking? He felt silly enough just stringing those words together.

But Finn had said _models_, plural, and if he was trying to get Gale on board, he was probably talking to the girls as well. With their contrasting features, Madge and Annie already looked like they'd emerged fully formed from a Tommy Hilfiger wet dream. Besides, they could easily pass for Northern European. Gale wouldn't say no to a day at the beach with Madge, even a beach that was freezing cold and had actual bits of _ice_ floating on it like the pictures Finn had showed him on the plane.

Gale reached for his phone and tapped out a text for Finn. _Got your voicemails. I'm awake now but if you aren't, I'll call you after my interview._

He waited for a few minutes, on the off chance that Finn was up and in the mood to talk. When nothing happened, Gale shrugged to himself and dropped back onto the floor. He might as well work on his abs while he was at it.

**.**

**ooo**

**.**

When Gale showed up at the hotel restaurant later that morning, freshly showered and buttoned into one of his better suits, Professor Latier was nowhere to be found. Neither was Alma Coin, the CEO whose profile he had read on their corporate website.

"Can I help you?" the hostess asked with a pleasant smile on her face.

"Um, I'm supposed to be meeting Dr. B.T. Latier," Gale said. "From Stiga Tek."

The hostess checked her clipboard. "You are Gale Hawthorne, correct?"

"Yes."

"Dr. Latier hasn't come down yet, but his colleague is." She smiled. "Let me show you to your table."

It was a table set for four, but so far there was only one person there: a pretty but stern-looking young woman in her early to mid-twenties, with her long black hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail. She stared intently at the open laptop in front of her, working on a PowerPoint presentation.

"Miss Valkonen," the hostess said. "Mr. Hawthorne is here."

The young woman rose to her feet, just barely coming up to Gale's shoulder even in what looked like four-inch stiletto heels. "Thank you," she said, addressing the hostess who then took her cue to leave.

Ms. Valkonen smoothed down her pencil skirt with one swift, efficient movement, and held out her hand for Gale to shake. "Gale," she said crisply. She reminded him a little of pissed-off Katniss, or even Annie on Saturday when she was trying to scare him away from Madge. "I'm Alma's executive assistant. You can call me Clove."

"Nice to meet you, Clove," Gale responded. She had a slight accent, which he couldn't quite place. "Are you Swedish?"

Clove looked at him coldly. "I'm from Helsinki." She paused, her dark, almost black eyes flickering up and down his body briefly before she added, "That's in Finland."

"I know," Gale said, feeling stung. Not _all _Americans were hopeless at geography. "I learned all the capitals when I had the chicken pox."

Clove just stared at him.

"Ha ha, Eddie Izzard joke." He waited for her to laugh, or smile, or change her expression to anything else but disdain, really. But she was giving him nothing. "All right then."

It was going to be a long morning.

**.**

**ooo**

**.**

Alma Coin was an extremely beautiful, flawlessly put-together woman in her fifties who exuded intelligence, power, and authority. Pin-straight gray hair without a strand out of place, a simple red sheath dress that commanded attention and admiration. "I'm so glad you could join us today, Gale," she said smoothly. "Beetee has been raving on and on about you."

"Thank you, Ms. Coin," he said automatically. "I was lucky to have a mentor like Professor Latier."

"Call me Alma," she told him. "We're all adults here."

"And I'm not your teacher anymore," Latier said. "So just call me Beetee."

Alma rested her chin in one slender hand, tapping a perfectly manicured fingernail on a razor-sharp cheekbone. "So you work for Coriolanus."

"Yes, I do," Gale answered. "I've been at Panem Industries since I graduated five years ago."

"Did you know he was my stepbrother? My mother used to be married to his father, before they divorced and we moved to Sweden."

If it wasn't in Coin's profile on the company website, Gale didn't know about it. "No," Gale replied. What else could he say to that? "That must have been an interesting childhood," he added, hoping that he was managing to look appropriately animated, without being too eager. The effort was exhausting him. How on earth did Finn do it?

Alma lifted a gracefully arched eyebrow. "Oh, it certainly was."

The three of them continued to chat over breakfast, and all in all it was the most pleasant interview Gale had ever had, if he could manage to ignore the dagger looks Clove was sending him out of the corner of his eye, or how she was cutting into her eggs in a chillingly precise way that reminded him of a throat being slit. What was her problem?

"Beetee, I'm sold on your boy," Alma declared, dabbing at her mouth with a cloth napkin after almost an hour. "That's just the kind of critical, creative thinking we want at Stiga Tek."

"Have I ever let you down?" Beetee responded, his eyes crinkling up in a smile behind his glasses.

Alma turned to Gale. "Clove will put you in touch with our human resources department, and they can take it from there with a formal offer," she told him. "If you accept, and assuming you give your two weeks' notice as soon as possible, we can draw up the contracts for you to sign in August or September when your non-compete clause runs out. I do recommend, however, that you start looking for a place to live as soon as possible. Since you don't speak Swedish, it's best if you personally visit Stockholm. You can do a quick scouting trip now, while you're here in Europe. If you need any pointers, just ask Clove—she'll be happy to help."

Gale didn't have to look at Clove to know that she most certainly wasn't. "Thank you, Alma," he said. "This is an incredible opportunity, and I can't wait to get started."

They rose from their chairs, and Gale shook each of their hands again before they left. "My wife Wiress is here with me," Beetee told him. "What do you say we do a celebration dinner tonight? If you don't have any plans, of course."

"That sounds wonderful," Gale said, but his grin disappeared when he remembered Finn's voicemail. "But, I almost forgot, I'm meeting with a few friends tonight. How about tomorrow?"

"There's a networking dinner at the conference tomorrow," Beetee said. "Let's just do tonight, and feel free to bring your friends. That is, if they don't mind hanging out with a couple of old fuddie-duddies."

"Not at all." If Gale remembered correctly, Beetee's wife had taught history at the university—or was it archaeology? Anthropology? Something in the humanities. Madge would probably enjoy talking to her about Vikings. And Annie was an academic herself; she would be used to it. Heck, she might even like it.

**.**

**ooo**

**.**

"Well, if it isn't the most brilliant young engineer I've had the pleasure of poaching from Panem Industries," Beetee exclaimed later that night, grinning broadly as he approached the table. "I feel as if I haven't seen you in _ages_."

"Beetee," Gale said, standing up and grasping the older man's hand in a firm handshake. "Thanks again for inviting me to dinner, and for extending the invitation to my friends."

"Ha! This is coming out of your first paycheck," Beetee chortled. He watched in amusement as his former student turned slightly green. "That was a joke, Gale. It's what colleagues do—joke around with each other."

"Um," Gale said, flustered. "You got me there."

"You remember Wiress," Beetee said, patting his wife's arm that was threaded through his.

"Of course," he said. "Nice to see you again, uh—Wiress." He still felt strange calling professors by their first names.

"I didn't think it was possible, but you've gotten even taller since college," Wiress said with a laugh. "My goodness."

Wiress turned his hand over. "I remember this ring—I've always admired it. May I see?"

"Uh, sure," Gale responded, pulling the family heirloom off his finger and handing it to her.

Finnick coughed, and Gale remembered his manners. "Beetee, Wiress, this is my friend Finn."

Finn pumped Beetee's hand enthusiastically, nearly blinding the man with his dazzling smile. "The pleasure is all mine."

"You look familiar," Beetee said, squinting at the handsome redhead through his glasses. "Were you in the same graduating class as Gale?"

"No, sir, I'm a proud dropout of Melbourne Uni," Finn said with a chuckle. "I sat next to Gale on the plane coming here, and the rest is history."

"Finn is a professional surfer," Gale explained. "He's part owner of Aegir, the surfing clothes company."

"We're coming out with a new line of wetsuits for winter surfing," Finn told Beetee. "We're doing a photo shoot for the ad campaign tomorrow." He coughed. "At least, if I can convince a certain someone to help out."

"Fascinating! I used to do a bit of surfing back in the day. Never was very good, though. I believe the correct term is abysmal." Beetee turned back to Gale. "And the others? I thought you said there were four of you."

"They just went to the ladies' room," Gale said, glancing over his shoulder. "Speaking of which, here they come."

"Professor Latier," Annie said, gracefully extending a slender hand to Beetee. "I've read some of your work. I'm Annika—I do marine biology here at the university."

Wiress looked up and startled everyone at the table by pulling Madge into a warm embrace. "And you must be Margaretha. Or is it Margaret?"

The blonde returned the hug, looking pleasantly surprised. "It's wonderful to meet you," she said. "It's Margaret, but you can call me Madge."

"How did you know her name?" Gale asked Wiress in amazement. "I don't think I mentioned it before."

"Oh, I didn't think you would brand yourself with another woman's name," Wiress told Gale with a smile. "The two of you make a lovely couple. I take it you go back a long way. Let me guess—college sweethearts? High school sweethearts?"

Madge furrowed her brow. "Beg your pardon?"

"We're not a couple," Gale felt compelled to say, as much as he wished it were otherwise. "We just met this weekend, at the airport."

"Oh! I'm terribly sorry," Wiress said, putting a hand to her mouth. "I just assumed… And it is such an amazing coincidence, when you think about it…"

"Start from the beginning, honey," Beetee said soothingly. "Our minds don't work as quickly as yours."

"I specialize in the Viking Age, you see," Wiress hastened to explain. "The runes on Gale's ring—they spell out her name."

"_What_?" Gale and Finn said in unison.

Wiress held out Gale's ring, rotating it slowly and pointing to each mysterious symbol in turn. "M-A-R-G-A-R-E-T-H-A. One of the variations of Margaret. It was quite popular in medieval Europe, including the Viking expansion era." She smiled apologetically. "I thought you chose it especially for that reason."

"Oh my god," Annie said, her eyes round. "Oh my _god_."

Gale stood there, his mouth hanging open. This was all too much to take. Their near-identical suitcases. Her traveling with Annie, and him befriending Finn. His name. _Her _name, or at least her mother's maiden name, as he'd found out eventually. And now, the ring his father had given him, the ring he'd worn since he was eighteen before he was even aware of Madge's existence. Could these things possibly be more than coincidences? He'd known from the start that he _wanted_ this woman in his life, but what if—what if she already was, even before he met her?

"I had no idea, Madge," he said. "I swear."

"I know, Gale," she said. But something had changed in her eyes, and Gale was desperate to find out what. "I believe you."

* * *

><p>.<p>

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**A/N:** I recently said on Tumblr that each chapter would typically feature three ships in a "50% Gadge + 25% host country couple + 25% third couple" distribution, but of course the first chapter I posted after saying that goes completely against the formula. ^_^;; BUT we got to go a little further in depth with Everlark and Gadge, so I hope that makes up for the inconsistency.

Another day, another Everlark conversation about religion. You guys knew Peeta's crisis of faith was coming. I've got my fingers crossed that you don't hate me right now. Speaking of things that are coming, Katniss and Peeta haven't had their brush with destiny yet, but stay tuned!

The line about believing in the postman was totally stolen from Terry Pratchett's _Witches Abroad_, which to be perfectly honest is probably one of my least favorite Discworld books (I prefer the ones that feature the Unseen University and the Night's Watch), but the quote worked perfectly here.

"Stiga" or "stige" means "to rise, ascend, or advance" and is a roundabout way of referring to the rebellion in _Enthralled_.


	6. Chapter 6

**Special shoutout to my dear barbarella-1980, who is in Iceland right now. Hope you have heaps of fun (as Finn would say), stay safe, and bring back a hot Icelandic boy for Posy ;)**

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* * *

><p>Wiress placed the ring in the palm of Madge's hand, and although the metal was cool to the touch she felt as if it would burn through her skin. It was beautifully made, and surprisingly heavy—perhaps not just from the weight of the silver itself, but also from the significance that the professor had revealed to them.<p>

Madge could hardly trust herself to speak, but she had to ask. "Would you know," she said haltingly, "how old this ring is?"

Wiress shook her head regretfully. "Unfortunately, there's no way to know for sure, not with today's technology at least," she told her. "You're all familiar with radiocarbon dating, and there's also methods like dendrochronology, thermoluminescence. But those techniques wouldn't work on Gale's ring. Pure metal artifacts are dated on a relative basis—that is, we estimate their age based on the age of other things that were found with them. For example, if the ring was found in a wooden box, we would carbon-date the box and—barring any evidence to the contrary—assume that the ring was made roughly around the same time. I'm fairly confident, however, that Gale's ring was not mass-produced. Whether it was made by a Viking craftsman one thousand years ago, or by an American silversmith who is still alive today… this was a bespoke piece of jewelry, custom-made for a rather large man who had someone named Margaretha in his life."

Finn's eyes gleamed. "I reckon Margaretha isn't a first name," he opined, elbowing Gale in the ribs as he did so. "I reckon someone was trying to spell 'Margaret Hawthorne' and ran out of space."

"Finn," Gale groaned.

"Oh my _god_," Annie repeated, unable to say anything else for the past few minutes.

Madge had never blushed so much in her entire life.

Beetee eyed her with amusement. "Let's all sit down and order," he suggested. "I think we all need something to drink."

Madge nodded gratefully. While Annie and Finn weren't looking, she slipped the ring back into Gale's hand. And just like that day at the airport, the slightest brush of his fingers against her skin sent a jolt of electricity through her body.

_There are three parts to the bride-price, and three animals that can be sacrificed at a wedding: a goat for Thor, a sow for Freyja, a goat or a horse for Freyr. Then there is the exchange of rings, and the exchange of swords, to hold in trust for their children until they too were married._

Madge dug her fingers into her temple. _I've been reading too much, _she thought. _I can't get these things out of my head._

Her purse, heavy with one of Grandpa Donner's books, banged against her side as she slid into a seat next to Annie. Madge had planned to ask Wiress about the books from the moment Gale had said that they were having dinner with a history professor. But, given what had just happened, she had second thoughts about engaging Beetee's wife further.

_A country full of people who can read the eddas and the sagas in the original Old Norse, and I'm nowhere nearer to having the books translated, _she reflected dismally_. _Not that there was any shortage of takers. That morning, Annie had taken her to the linguistics department and then to the medieval studies department, and everyone practically started salivating the moment Madge mentioned she had inherited books written in Old Norse.

Madge knew Grandpa Donner's books probably belonged in a museum, with people who actually knew what to do with them. Even Aunt Maysilee would agree, if she knew just how rare the books possibly were. But Madge wasn't ready to give them up just yet. _I don't want to forget._

"Now this, I know the history of," Beetee pronounced as their drinks arrived. He held up a shot glass full of the clear liquid. "_Brennivín_ translates into 'burning wine', although technically it's a schnapps made from potatoes and spices. It's also known as the Black Death, probably because the label had a skull and crossbones logo during the prohibition years."

"Prohibition?" Gale questioned. "In Iceland?"

Wiress nodded. "All alcohol was banned in 1915, then brought back in stages. Beer wasn't legalized until 1989."

"Ooh, I was here last Beer Day," Finn piped up. "The first of March. Good times."

"Why would they legalize beer last?" Madge wondered aloud, finally feeling brave enough to contribute to the conversation.

"The way it was explained to me, it was because beer is cheaper," Annie replied. "That makes it easier to buy more, and drink more."

"Fair warning, Gale, the folks over at the Stockholm office take their drinking very seriously," Beetee said with a grin.

"Gale can take 'em," Finn declared. "Gale drinks Polish vodka."

Beetee chuckled as he raised his glass higher. "Well, then, this calls for a toast. To new jobs, new friendships, and new lives. To new beginnings."

"To new beginnings," Wiress echoed, smiling warmly. "_Skál_."

Madge's eyes met Gale's as she lifted her own drink in the air. _To new beginnings._

"_Skál_," Gale said, and to Madge it felt as if he was speaking more to her than to anyone else at the table, in the restaurant, in the entire world.

The truth was that all of this—Gale, Finn, all of them together, but most especially Gale—it didn't _feel_ new. It was exciting, yes, and more terrifying than Madge cared to admit. But no, it didn't feel new to her. It didn't feel new at all.

**.**

**ooo**

**.**

The brennivín set Madge's throat on fire on the way down, before settling warmly and comfortably in her belly. She coughed, wiping a few stray drops from her bottom lip. "It's like drinking licorice-flavored acid."

Finn pretended to smash his shot glass on the floor_. _"Another!"

"Calm down, Chris Hemsworth," Gale laughed. "Your Aussie is showing."

"Back home, gulping down a shot in one go is called skulling," Finn remarked. "I never made the connection before, but I'm guessing it has to do with _skál_."

"You're absolutely correct," Wiress responded. "There are many Australians of European descent that can probably trace their lineage to the Vikings if they go back far enough. What's your last name, Finn?"

"Odair," Finn answered. "My family, way back, was Irish."

"There you have it," Wiress said triumphantly. "Ireland was one of the first places the Vikings, especially the Norwegians, plundered and then settled in western Europe. Odair could be a variation of _Adair_ or Adare, which is a village in Ireland—near Limerick, if I remember correctly. Odair could also refer to _Oddr_, one of the Old Norse words for 'spear'. I'm not saying you definitively are from Viking stock, but there's a chance."

"That's perfect," Finn proclaimed. "Absolutely perfect. Can you do Gale next?"

Gale held up his hands. "Both my parents are a quarter Native American."

"What about the other three quarters?" Annie wanted to know. "Or six-eighths, to be more precise?"

"You're from Minnesota," Madge spoke up. "That's pretty much the Scandinavian immigration capital of the United States."

"Don't forget the Vikings were in North America centuries before Columbus was even born," Beetee added. "They almost certainly intermarried with the locals."

"And you have gray eyes," Wiress observed. "Most people who have gray eyes are from Northern and Eastern Europe. If I remember correctly, it's most common in Latvia and Estonia—all part of the eastern front of the Viking raids, due to their proximity to Sweden."

Wiress directed her attention at Annie. "Speaking of Sweden, Annika is a very common name there. Remember, it was the name of one of Pippi Longstocking's best friends."

Annie's cheeks flushed. "It probably doesn't mean anything important in my case," she said cautiously. "Anyone can give their child a Swedish first name. As for my family name, it's either Spanish or Italian, possibly both."

"The Vikings were in the Mediterranean," Madge pointed out. "Ragnar Loðbrok's son, Björn Ironside, was supposed to have attacked Spain, Italy, France… It's amazing how much of the world they explored and influenced. I mean, they've even found statuettes of Buddha in Viking graves—probably acquired via the Middle East or North Africa, but it's not outside the realm of possibility that they interacted directly with Indian or even Chinese traders themselves." She felt slightly foolish after her monologue, but Wiress smiled at her encouragingly.

"Said the blondest, most Scandinavian-looking person at this entire table," Annie deadpanned.

"You do look very Nordic, Madge," Beetee commented. "I'm fairly sure you can trace your roots back to the Vikings."

"I think I do have Scandinavian blood, but I'm not sure how much or from where, exactly," Madge admitted. "I can say for certain that some of my family were German, and weren't the Vikings a Germanic people?"

"Your mother's maiden name was Donner," Gale said. "One of the old names for Thor."

Finn slung his arm around Gale's shoulder. "This is another one of those signs, mate," he said in smug satisfaction. "The three of you should all do the shoot with me. It's what our ancestors would have wanted."

**.**

**ooo**

**.**

Beetee drew the line at ordering more brennivín, but he did get several pitchers of the best passionfruit sangria that Gale had ever tasted. By the time they had to leave Tapas Barinn, Gale, Finn, and the girls were all more than a little tipsy, and the taxi driver kept glancing warily at them during the short ride to Annie's apartment, obviously worried that one of them would throw up.

"I'm sloshed," Finn groaned from the front passenger seat, leaning his head out the window and taking deep breaths of the cool night air. "I'm sloshed _and _stuffed."

"How good was dessert, though?" Annie said, letting out an involuntary moan at the memory. She had warmed considerably since Saturday, and had even leaned on Finn's arm for all of two seconds while waiting for a taxi. "I've tasted heaven, and it's called white chocolate _skyr _mousse with raspberry coulis."

Madge sighed happily, pressing her palms against her cheeks. "I think my face went numb from laughing so hard."

"Oh, that's the alcohol talking," Gale chuckled. That night's drinking was nothing compared to his post-Katniss bender, and he was the least inebriated out of the four of them. "Finn's jokes weren't _that_ good."

The taxi turned right, and even though it hadn't been a sharp or sudden movement in any way, it was enough to send Madge crashing into Gale.

"Whoops," she giggled. She clutched at his thigh to steady herself, and before Gale could stop himself he was thinking of how she would look on the bed in his hotel room, in his apartment back in St. Paul, in the new place he would get for himself in Stockholm.

_Don't be a creep, Gale,_ he told himself. _You're going to be spending a lot of time, in very close quarters, with this girl very soon. Be her friend, keep it in your pants, and everything's going to be fine. _

But it was too late: all he could see in his mind's eye was Madge's golden hair spilled across his pillow, her pupils dilated with desire, her long legs spread wide for him as he drank in the most intoxicating thing of all. _Her_.

The realization came as no surprise, but it sent his world reeling just the same, more than alcohol ever could.

He _craved_ her.

**.**

**ooo**

**.**

Annie unlocked her door and they all spilled into the apartment, laughing uncontrollably at something Finn had said that, honestly, none of them could actually remember.

"You should have asked the driver to wait," Annie scolded Finn half-heartedly, squinting at the glass of sparkling water with lemon and ginger that she was pouring out for him. "You shouldn't even have taken the taxi with us at all. You could've walked back to the hotel from the restaurant."

"What kind of gentlemen would that make us?" Finn wanted to know, right before he belched. "Sorry."

"We can grab another taxi," Gale told Annie. "Worst-case scenario, I carry Finn to the hotel. I don't mind."

Annie glanced at the couch, where Madge had promptly collapsed upon entering. "Maybe you boys should crash here, especially if we're going to do that shoot tomorrow."

Gale had caved sometime in between the smoked puffin with blueberry sauce and the grilled lamb skewers, and after that it was only a matter of time before the girls followed suit.

"It's going to be heaps of fun, Annie," Finn promised, catching the glass as Annie slid it in his direction. "It'll just be like the old days, driving out to the Goldie for a day to catch the surf."

"Except the water's, like, five degrees Fahrenheit and we're going to be dressed like Vikings," Gale reminded him.

Finn dismissed it with a wave of his hand. "You won't regret this. We're going to have a good time, see the sights. Plus, it'll offset what you'll spend on your trip with Madge. That's always good, eh, Gale?"

Annie froze in the middle of pouring another glass for Gale. "What trip with Madge?" she demanded.

The deadly tone of her voice rendered the three of them suddenly sober. Gale cleared his throat, aware that there was no point in trying to beat around the bush, aware that there was no way he could make the truth sound any less damning. "I, uh, invited Madge to come with me. To Oslo, and maybe Copenhagen. This week." He swallowed awkwardly. "To visit my friends. You know Jo Mason, right?"

The water was running over, and Finn quickly took away the glass and the bottle of Egils Kristall from her. "When was she planning to tell me?" Annie asked quietly.

"I—I don't know," Gale stammered. "I mean, she _said_ she was interested, but she hasn't bought the plane tickets yet, so it's not like it's one hundred percent official. We don't have a concrete itinerary or anything, either. For all I know, she might have changed her mind since we last talked about it. Maybe she already decided against it, and that's why she hasn't told you."

"That's not the point!" Annie cried. "The point is that I'm just trying to look out for my best friend in the entire world, and she can't even tell me that she's _considering_ traipsing around Europe with a guy she just met. What's next? Are the two of you going to elope? You've already got her name on your ring, so I guess I shouldn't be surprised if you do."

She ran into her room and slammed the door.

**.**

**ooo**

**.**

Madge knocked quietly. "Annie," she said, leaning her forehead against the door. "Annie, I'm sorry. I was going to tell you tonight—I was hoping Gale would make a better impression on you at dinner than he did on Saturday. I was right, wasn't I? I just got a bit carried away by all the fun we were having at the restaurant. And all the booze." She regretted that last part as soon as it came out of her mouth.

From inside her bedroom, Annie snorted. "Thanks a _lot_," she said sarcastically. "That makes me feel _so_ much better."

Madge jiggled the doorknob. "Annie, please let me in."

"You should have told me the moment he asked. And you _definitely_ shouldn't have said yes without checking with me first."

"I know that."

"Gale told Finn, and he's only known him for three days. We've been best friends for twenty _years_."

"I messed up, I know that." Madge closed her eyes. "I'm sorry."

"Don't you trust me at all, to tell me these things?"

"I trust you with my life, and you know that," Madge said, feeling a sob rise in her throat. "Don't you trust _me_ to decide where I should travel and with whom? I know I completely misjudged Seneca, but… this is different, somehow. What will it take to convince you that I'm safe with Gale?"

Without warning, the door swung open, and Madge nearly fell over before quickly righting herself and regaining her balance—but not her composure.

"You don't need to convince me," Annie said coldly, holding her open laptop in her hands. On the screen: an active Skype session, with Aunt Maysilee and Uncle Haymitch staring back at her. "Convince _them_."

**.**

**ooo**

**.**

From nearly four thousand miles away, in the home he shared with his wife and their three sons in Seattle, Haymitch Abernathy scowled at the dark-haired young man sitting next to his niece on Annika Cresta's couch in Reykjavík. "What's your name, boy?"

"Gale, sir," the young man replied, an uncomfortable look on his face. "Gale Hawthorne."

"Any relation to Edward Hawthorne? You look like him."

"He's my father, sir." Gale hesitated. "How do you know each other?"

"I'll ask the questions around here," Haymitch barked.

Maysilee put a hand on her husband's arm. "Edward joined Haymitch's fraternity in college," she explained gently. "We didn't spend much time with him, because we had just graduated when Edward was a freshman. But we would see him whenever we came to visit the old haunts, and we always liked him. A wonderful man, and very handsome." She winked at Madge, much to her husband's chagrin. "How is your father doing nowadays, Gale?"

"Good, good," Gale said, looking slightly relieved.

"You're not off the hook just yet, boy," Haymitch growled. "If I remember correctly, Edward dropped out when he knocked Hazelle up."

Madge groaned, covering her face in her hands. "Uncle Haymitch!"

"Yeah, that was me," Gale admitted, forcing a laugh. "I mean, that's how I, um, came to be. How I was… conceived."

Haymitch glared at him. "And you think I'm going to let you whisk away Eric and Mat's only child to Norway?"

"And Denmark," Annie interjected.

"To visit Johanna Mason," Madge countered. "Jo is Gale's friend, too. She can vouch for him."

"_Johanna Mason_?" Haymitch felt his face turn purple. "_Johanna Mason_? You're not making this any easier for yourself, missy."

Maysilee poked her husband's side. "Jo is a lovely girl and you know it."

"She's stark raving bonkers!"

"With all due respect, sir," Gale said. "First of all, you probably already know that my parents had been together for years by the time I came along. They hadn't planned on starting a family so soon, but they were going to, eventually. Second, Jo may have a bit of a reputation, but she's one of the most caring, fiercely loyal people I know. Third, I haven't known Madge for very long, but I think she's smart enough and responsible enough to make her own decisions. She's certainly old enough, at least."

Gale took a deep breath, and Haymitch watched with unblinking eyes as the young man unconsciously touched his left wrist. "Fourth, I promise to you that I will protect your niece, and bring her back safely to Annie," he vowed. "I won't—I won't ask her, or _expect_ her, to do anything she doesn't want to do."

"So sure that she'll want to, eh?" Haymitch sneered.

"Uncle Haymitch!" Madge protested again, turning her beseeching eyes on Maysilee.

"That's not what I meant," Gale sputtered. "That's not what I meant at _all_."

"Save it, boy." Haymitch crossed his arms over his chest and faced Madge. "Margaret Undersee," he began sternly. "Annie, your aunt, and I—we only want what's best for you. There's nothing we can do to stop you from going wherever you want, or doing whatever you want, with this boy, or anyone else for that matter. But we're trusting you to take care of yourself, with or without Hawthorne, so we would appreciate it if you didn't do anything to jeopardize that trust."

Madge nodded. "I won't," she promised. "You won't be sorry."

Satisfied, Haymitch then narrowed his eyes at Gale. "And _you_ just swore an oath to me in front of all these people. I love Madge like a daughter. If you go back on your word, so help me, I'll know where to find you."

When there was nothing else to say, Haymitch closed the lid of his laptop, only to see his wife smirking at him. "Now what?" he grumbled.

Maysilee scooted closer to him on the couch and wound her arms around his neck. "Well, this is certainly taking me back to when _you_ first met my family," she said coyly, lacing her fingers together behind her husband's head.

"I'm insulted, May," Haymitch said, even as his arms encircled her waist. "That was completely different. It wasn't my fault that your parents had practically adopted Eric already, and that he was so damn perfect for Mat. And besides, I didn't ask you to jump on a plane to Norway within the same week of meeting me."

"We were sixteen and still living at home. Madge is twenty-five, and a lawyer. Believe me, if it were within our means at the time, we would've done exactly what Gale and Madge are planning to do right now."

Haymitch winced. "Please don't say that."

"Incidentally, Gale reminds me a lot of you."

"You could practically smell the alcohol on his breath from here."

Maysilee laughed. "Well, there's that, too." She rested her head on his shoulder. "But I specifically meant the way he speaks his mind."

"I'll give him credit for that," Haymitch conceded. "But not in front of Madge."

"You know what really sealed the deal for me, though?"

"What?"

Maysilee pushed his hair back from his face and smiled. "That gesture he made just then, the fingers to the wrist." She pressed a kiss to his lips. "Whenever you make a promise, that's exactly the same thing _you_ do."

* * *

><p>.<p>

.

**A/N:** I wasn't originally planning to have the third couple this week be Haymitch and Maysilee, but there you go! ^_^;;

Shorter than last week, but it seemed more natural to cut it here than to cut it in the middle of the photo shoot.

Annie may have been overzealous with her concern for Madge, but remember that Annie was drunk, Madge is vulnerable, and anyway I hope you all have someone like Annie in your lives the next time you decide to go on an impromptu multi-country tour with an almost-stranger—however old/independent you already are, and however good-looking said stranger may be. :P

Today's update contains throwbacks to _Enthralled_ Chapters 15 and 10. Also, Margaretha learned how to make _skyr_ (among other things) in _Enthralled_ Chapter 4. Speaking of which, my standard disclaimer from that fic applies even more so here. I write this for fun, and while I do read a lot and document my sources as much as I can (and I have to thank my Tumblr friends for putting up with my research and meta spam), I am not a historian (or anthropologist or archaeologist), even if Wiress is. :)

And you all probably know this already, but here's one more thing: the word for "cheers" is _skál _in Iceland, and _skål_ (pronounced "skol") in Denmark, Norway, and Sweden. So if you're going out on Friday/this weekend, _skál_!


	7. Chapter 7

Ever since she was a little girl, sleep had never come easily to Annie. It was just the way her mind worked, she supposed. It was constantly racing: making lists and checking things off them simultaneously, jumping from one subject to another, reliving the past, anticipating the future.

At first, the only thing that could calm her young mind, the only way she would ever drift off to sleep, was if her older brother Rafe was there to tuck her in, right before he himself went to sleep in his own bed in their shared room. He would hold her hand as he told her bedtime stories of warriors from ages past, tall tales of adventure on the seven seas. She and Rafe weren't far apart in age—just three years, in fact—and it showed in his stories. They were simple in their construction, and gleefully violent in the way that only a little boy who had no real-life experience with death could conjure. But Annie loved his stories, because they were Rafe's, and because his familiar voice drowned out all the thoughts that were competing for attention in her head.

When Rafe turned nine, however, he decided he was too old to sleep in the same room as his little sister. Even though his new room was right next door, and even though he would still hold her hand and tell her stories until she fell asleep, it would never be the same again.

And then the nightmares came.

**.**

**ooo**

**.**

_Annie woke up in a cold sweat, the acrid smell of smoke filling her lungs._

"_Mama?" she called out. "Papa?"_

_Out of the darkness, out of the shadows, her brother emerged. He looked older, somehow—not quite a man, but no longer a boy. "You must run, Annie," he whispered, his face pale. His voice was deeper, his tone more urgent, than she had ever heard before. "You must hide."_

"_Where will you go?" she cried. "Will you not come with me?"_

"_I will stay and fight by Father's side," her brother told her. "You must run away with Mother. The enemy has come, and they are burning the village to the ground."_

"_Quickly, quickly," their mother admonished, wrapping Annie in blankets, shoving her tiny feet into her boots. "There is not a moment to spare."_

_Annie would never forget the way the cold winter air felt on her face, like a thousand needles pricking her skin the moment she stepped out of the warmth of their home. The way the winter chill seeped into her bones when her feet sank into the snow._

_The way her brother's decapitated head dropped out of the sky and landed at her feet. The bloodcurdling scream of her mother as she sagged to her knees. Rafe's green eyes, wide and unblinking, staring forever at the stars._

**.**

**ooo**

**.**

"It's your fault," her mother had reprimanded Rafe, when Annie's cries brought the entire family to her bedside that first night. "I told you to stop telling her those dreadful stories of yours."

"But she never had nightmares before," Rafe had protested.

In time, Annie learned to fall asleep to the sound of the radio or the television. As long as there was white noise to occupy her hyperactive subconscious, the nightmares stayed away. When Madge started sleeping over on weekends, Annie found that her best friend's presence calmed her enough to send her into a deep, peaceful, dreamless sleep.

But every now and then the nightmares would return, though they were never exactly the same, and each time was more detailed than the last. The first day that Rafe brought his then-girlfriend home from college in Minnesota, Jo appeared in Annie's dreams that very night, her face covered in blood and her eyes wild with rage as she hunted down Rafe's killers and tore them from limb to limb with an axe.

**.**

**ooo**

**.**

_Reykjavík_

After the Skype call with Uncle Haymitch and Aunt Maysilee, Gale and Finn excused themselves to return to their hotel, leaving the girls alone to sort out their differences.

But Annie wasn't in the mood to talk. She said a tight-lipped goodbye to the boys, assuring Finn they were still on for the photo shoot even before he asked, and retreated to her room while Madge resigned herself to a night on the couch.

There Madge tossed and turned, angry at herself for trying to keep a secret from her best friend. Annie was always there for her; she had a tremendous maternal instinct, and Madge was the lucky recipient of all of it. Madge racked her brain for a single memory, some aspect of her life that didn't involve Annie in some way, and came up with nothing. Since that fateful first day of pre-ballet, they had been inseparable. Even after Annie moved to Australia and then Iceland for grad school, she checked in on Madge almost every day. Just last week, Annie dropped everything and flew all the way from Reykjavík to Seattle to be there for Madge after her parents died.

_What about you?_ Madge thought as she drifted off to sleep. _What have you done for Annie lately?_

Madge had only been asleep for thirty, maybe forty-five minutes when she was jarred awake by the sound of Annie screaming.

The bedroom door was unlocked, and Madge ran in without a second thought. "Annie?" she cried, her heart pounding. "What's wrong?"

Annie was thrashing in bed, sobbing in her sleep and whimpering incoherently. Madge climbed in under the quilt and embraced her, pinning Annie's arms to her sides. "It's just a dream," she said soothingly, even though Annie wasn't awake to hear. "It's just a dream."

Madge had always known Annie suffered from nightmares since childhood, but she had never actually seen her have one. The nightmares always seemed to go away whenever they were together. Madge pressed her forehead against Annie's temple, listening carefully to the words interspersed between the sobs.

_Finn._

_Come back._

_Come home._

Madge felt tears spring to her eyes. "Finn loves you, Annie," she whispered, and even though she had only known Finnick Odair for a few days there was no doubt in her mind that it was true. "_I_ love you."

Madge tightened her embrace as Annie's convulsions began to subside. "There, there," she murmured. Madge could never repay Annie for everything she had done, was still doing for her, but she was determined to try. Even if it was just for tonight, even if there was a chance Annie wouldn't remember it in the morning, this time Madge was going to be the one to take care of _her_.

**.**

**ooo**

**.**

She'd cried in her sleep again, Annie could tell from the way her eyes seemed sewn shut and nearly impossible to open. She felt around on her nightstand for her rosewater toner and spritzed some on her face. Carefully, she rubbed the crust off her eyelids, grimacing to herself the entire time. _Gross._

Annie put on her glasses and took stock of her surroundings. Madge was curled up in bed next to her, still wearing most of what she had on at the restaurant the evening before: a close-fitting button-down shirt and a plaid miniskirt, although she had taken off her cardigan and leggings.

Before Annie could look away, Madge opened her eyes and lifted her head from the pillow. "Hey," she said, pulling herself up on her elbows. "I, uh, hope you don't mind. You were—you were having a bad dream last night."

Annie pressed the heel of her palm to her throbbing temple. "Sorry," she mumbled. "You shouldn't have had to see that."

"I'm kind of glad I did," Madge said. "I feel—I feel as if they're a part of you I've never understood before. I mean, I still don't, but…" She bit her lip and looked at her uncertainly, as if trying to decide whether to say something more.

Madge glanced at the clock on the wall. "We still have a couple of hours before the guys pick us up. Why don't I make us some breakfast while you shower?"

Annie allowed herself a small smile. "That would be great," she acquiesced. "Thank you."

**.**

**ooo**

**.**

Madge made them scrambled eggs on toast, and tomatoes with salt, pepper, and fresh basil. "A hangover breakfast for two," she proclaimed wryly as she poured out two cups of peppermint tea.

"I've never really been hung over before," Annie admitted as she sat down at the kitchen table, wrapped in a bathrobe and her long hair twisted up in a towel.

Madge smirked. "Really? I thought all you globetrotting researchers went on epic drinking binges all the time, always."

Annie snorted. "Yeah, well, remember that wild night out on the town I told you about last year? In Tokyo?"

"I remember," Madge said. "You presented a paper at a conference in the morning, then holed yourself up in a bookstore until nine o'clock at night."

"Not just any bookstore," Annie corrected her. "The Shinjuku Kinokuniya. It had, like, almost _ten_ floors of books or something."

"You don't even read Japanese."

Annie huffed. "There were plenty of English books, too. Besides, I can read hiragana and katakana well enough. It's the kanji that's hard to learn."

"Nerd."

"Excuse you, who's the one lugging around Old Norse books in her bag?"

Madge playfully flicked a basil leaf in Annie's direction.

"Hey!" Annie protested, picking it up from the table and putting it on her tomato. "Fresh herbs are expensive, you know."

"Everything's expensive in Iceland."

"Well, that's what happens when you're a volcanic island in the middle of the ocean and you have to import basically everything."

Madge lifted the cup to her lips to hide her smile. "Does this mean we're good?"

Annie bit into her toast and carefully tilted her head to the side as she chewed. "Nah."

Madge stuck her tongue out at her.

It was good to have her best friend back.

**.**

**ooo**

**.**

"So, do you know when you're leaving for your trip with Gale?" Annie asked quietly, later when they were getting ready.

The question caught Madge off guard. "We, um, haven't had a chance to talk about it. But… soon, probably." She was putting on moisturizer, and she felt her face grow warm under her fingertips. "Are you… are you okay with it now?"

"I'm not exactly over the moon about it," Annie admitted, concentrating on her reflection in the mirror as she put her contacts in. "As you are well aware."

"Am I ever."

"But now, if you mysteriously disappear, at least Haymitch knows where Gale's dad lives. And if neither of them cuts his balls off, Jo will hold him down while I do it myself."

Madge winced. "I'm sure there won't be any need for that."

Annie sat down on the bed and leaned back, putting her weight on her wrists. She eyed Madge warily. "Just… just don't get too attached, all right?"

"What do you mean?"

Annie rolled her eyes. "I've seen the way Gale looks at you. And the way you look back. If he lived anywhere near Seattle I would tell you to have at it, but he doesn't. What happens after this trip? You might never see him again."

"You mean, like you and Finn?" Madge sank down on the bed next to her best friend. "Annie, you were crying out his name last night."

The blood drained from Annie's face. "I was?"

There was a familiar twinge of pain in her heart as Madge nodded. It had all been a dream, but the anguish it caused Annie was far too real. "Yeah. You were… you were telling him… begging him to come home. To come home to you."

"Oh god." Annie buried her face in her hands. "I said that?"

"You did."

"I guess it's time to come clean." Annie gave her a wan smile. "You're not the only one who's been keeping a secret."

**.**

**ooo**

**.**

"_You slept with Finnick Odair and didn't tell me?"_

Madge jumped from the bed and started pacing up and down the length of the bedroom.

"It was just once," Annie told her. "I never saw him again after that. Until this week, I mean."

Madge pointed an accusing finger at her best friend. "Because you ran away!"

"I did what I had to do," Annie insisted. "It was going to end sooner or later."

"You don't know that for sure!"

"And that's exactly why I didn't tell you," Annie shot back. "You would have convinced me to keep seeing him."

"Because he's _crazy _about you!"

"That's not enough, Madge!" There was a tremor in Annie's voice, and her eyes filled with tears. "It's never enough. No matter how he feels about me, no matter how I feel about _him_, that doesn't change anything. We'd never see each other, I'd always be jealous of every single person he comes in contact with… we'd be miserable."

"You sound pretty miserable to me right now."

Annie chose to ignore that. "And… and these _dreams_, they just kill me every time. I thought I had a handle on them, but now they're back and I know it's because of _him_."

"What happens in your dreams, Annie?" Madge knelt down in front of Annie and laid her head in her lap. "Tell me."

Annie took a deep breath, and thought for a moment before starting to speak in a measured tone. "Even… even before I met Finn, I had dreams about him. I guess I saw him on TV and in magazines at some point, and he made an impression on me even back then. At first it was like those dreams I had about my brother… I've told you about those."

Madge nodded. "I remember."

"Everything was the same, except I was seeing Finn's face instead of Rafe's," Annie continued. "They were horrible, obviously, but I didn't think much of Finn being there. They have the same color hair and eyes, so I assumed my brain was just mixing them up somehow.

"Then, after I met Finn… I started having other dreams. I dreamed… that we were together, and had children." Annie's face reddened. "But he would always leave. He would be away for weeks, even months at a time, with no means of communication. And it _killed_ me. It killed me to wait, not knowing when he'd be back. Not knowing if he'd come back at all."

"Is this why you travel so much?" Madge wondered. "I always thought… it always felt to me like, after Australia, you were suddenly scared of staying in one place for too long."

"I never thought of it that way before. I've always wanted to see the world, and I know how lucky I am to have the opportunity to do that. If I'd been born in a different place or time, under different circumstances… I wouldn't be able to. But the way you put it makes sense, too… this way, I'm never the one who's left behind." Annie sighed. "Anyway. In my dreams, I also kept imagining… all these ways Finn could die. Drowning while trying to save someone. Getting stabbed with that stupid trident of his, you know, the one in that famous picture of him." Annie choked back a teary laugh. "One time I dreamed he was mauled by giant lizards."

Madge looked horrified. "Why would you even _think_ that?"

"I was in Australia, okay?" Annie defended herself. "The wildlife there can kill you."

Just then, the doorbell rang.

"That's them," Annie said, hurriedly wiping her eyes and reaching for a tissue to blow her nose. She glared at Madge. "Not a word of this to anyone, especially Finn or Gale."

"I promise," Madge vowed.

Annie's cheeks puffed out as she exhaled. She patted her hair self-consciously. "How do I look?"

Madge smiled. "Like a model."

**.**

**ooo**

**.**

The drive to Jökulsárlón would take them over four hours, Finn said as they piled into the SUV that his company had rented for the occasion.

"When you said we'd do the Blue Lagoon, too, I thought you meant we were going to the beach in Grindavík," Annie remarked. "That's right by the lagoon, and much closer to Reykjavík."

"The view in Jökulsárlón is better, especially for stills," Finn said. "But this is going to be a relatively quick shoot. My crew's already there; they've been filming the action shots with the local surfers since yesterday. You never know when a good wave is going to come in, so we're getting as much footage as we can. It's mostly the posed stuff that we need models for. Anyway, we can always go to the lagoon tomorrow if there's not enough time, unless…"

Finn trailed off, and Gale made eye contact with him in the rearview mirror. "Well, unless we aren't all free."

Before anyone could bring up the fiasco from last night, Finn plugged his phone into the sound system and pressed play. "Hey, I've got heaps of stuff from the local musos, they're amazing and you should check them out," he said, rapid-fire, all in one breath.

The first track came on, and Finn's musical tastes didn't disappoint. "This is the song from the plane," Gale said in recognition. It was a simple melody, just a guitar and a male voice singing in Icelandic, wistful and plaintive and full of emotion.

"Yeah, they play it on every flight to Iceland," Finn said, pleased that Gale had noticed. "Isn't it awesome?"

Gale nodded in assent and they listened in silence for a while, up until the second verse when Finn and Annie suddenly started singing along at the same time.

Annie's eyes widened when she realized what she was doing, and abruptly stopped.

"Keep going, Annie," Madge encouraged her.

"Yeah, your voice is much better than Finn's," Gale chimed in. He doubted anyone could get angrier at him than Madge's uncle had been last night, so he figured he might as well have fun at Finn's expense. After all, it was Finn's fault Annie found out about their trip before Madge managed to tell her.

Annie smiled and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm flattered, but I don't know all the lyrics by heart. Just a couple of lines here and there."

"It's really impressive that you know any of the lyrics at all," Gale pointed out. "Can you speak Icelandic?"

"Enough to get by. Enough to be polite, order food, that kind of thing. But there's an English version of this song, too, so I know what it means. I explained it to Madge, the first time she heard it."

"What's it about?"

Annie's face softened. "It's about… going home," she said quietly. "He's… tired. And burdened by all these problems that he won't talk about. He's traveling from far away, and he knows it'll take a long time before he gets there."

"But he's thinking of someone," Finn added, a pensive expression on his face. "His light in the dark. And whenever he thinks about that someone… he knows."

"Knows what?" Gale echoed, looking from Finn to Annie, then back to Finn again. Even if Finn had never told him about his feelings for Annie, Gale would have picked up on it from the very start, from the moment they saw each other again at the airport. It was exhausting to watch them dancing around each other like this, weaving in and out of each other's orbit, when the very air between them was alive and crackling with energy so intense Gale could practically _see_ it.

Finn looked out the window, twisting the silver bracelet around his wrist. When he finally opened his mouth again to speak, the voice that came out was raw, vulnerable. "He knows that he's already home."

**.**

**ooo**

**.**

"It's _beautiful_," Madge breathed when they finally arrived at their destination.

Gale inhaled through his nose, filling his lungs with cold air as he surveyed the scene. Jökulsárlón was vast, expanding in all directions as far as the eye could see. Even though it seemed nearly empty—a while back they'd made a turn and all of a sudden the crowds of tourists just _disappeared_—it was sensory overload. It was surreal. The brilliant whites and blues of the icebergs and distant glaciers. The sound of the waves crashing into the black sands and rocks of the shore. The feeling that they were at the very ends of the earth.

In fact, Gale was half-expecting someone to come up and tell them that they weren't actually _on _Earth anymore. Even though he was a true-blue Northerner, and saw more snow in one winter than other people would ever see in a lifetime, he had never seen icebergs or a glacier up close before. Years ago, he and Katniss had made vague plans to go and see the glaciers in Alaska, but—like many other things in their now nonexistent relationship—it had never materialized.

But Gale was here now. Looking at the glaciers, in Iceland, on a trip he didn't even pay for. On the threshold of a new chapter in his life, the next level of his career. With his new friends, three of the most intriguing people he had ever met. With Madge.

Madge tugged on the sleeve of his jacket and looked at him with bright eyes. "Isn't it gorgeous?"

"Yeah," Gale agreed. "You are."

He didn't mean to say it—not like that, anyway—but fortunately for him, Madge didn't seem to hear. By then she had turned to Annie and started chattering away, comparing the view to the glaciers in Washington state, Oregon, and northern California.

"Guys, this is Cinna," Finnick said, introducing them to a striking man who looked every inch the rock star in his short dreads and aviator sunglasses. "My creative director, and the most stylish person I know. He's also our photographer for today, so everyone do exactly as he says."

"I've met you before," Gale realized as he shook Cinna's hand. "You were one of the judges at the charity runway show in Minneapolis. Spring of 2007."

Cinna laughed. "Yes, that's correct. I remember you, too. Gale, wasn't it? You did a great job back then, and I'm sure you'll do well today." For someone who had such a commanding presence, he was incredibly soft-spoken.

The concept of the shoot was simple enough. "You'll each be photographed dressed as Vikings first, then with the Aegir wetsuits and longboards second," Cinna explained. "Then we'll Photoshop the two versions of you together, kind of like a before-and-after shot."

"Pepperidge Farm remembers," Gale quipped. Madge giggled.

Next, Finn introduced them to a petite woman who, in her eye-wateringly bright blue and orange ensemble, looked more like a tropical bird than a human being. "So lovely to meet you all," Effie, his publicist, said smoothly even as she teetered precariously on see-through platform heels. "It's a big, big day!"

"Is that—is that fish in your shoes?" Gale couldn't help but ask, staring in bafflement at her feet.

Effie tittered as she daintily popped one foot up behind her. Gale could see that the platforms were filled with blue-tinted water, sparkles, and rather realistic-looking fake clownfish. "They're not real, darling. They're simply for effect. But so marvelous of you to notice."

Finn also introduced them to a small group of wetsuit-clad men: local surfers, already damp from the morning's surfing. Looking at them, however, Gale wondered why Finn even needed professional models in the first place.

"Gunnar, Einar, and Axel. Three of Iceland's finest," Finn declared. His eyes crinkled at the corners as his grin widened. "Of course, that's not saying much," he added in jest. "There's only, what, twenty surfers in the entire country?"

"Correction, I believe there's as much as twenty-five of us now," Gunnar interjected, running a hand through his shoulder-length brown hair. He winked at Madge, and Gale felt his jaw clench. "It's a population explosion."

"Are you counting Harald? Harald's not an Icelander," Axel argued.

"His parents are Icelanders," Einar said.

"Yeah, but he grew up in Amsterdam. He _lives_ in Amsterdam. He only comes here in the summer."

"Still counts."

While the surfers continued their debate, Finn steered Gale and the girls toward the costume, hair and makeup tent. "Controversial topic, that one," he informed them. "Best not to get mixed up in it."

Gale groaned when he saw Finn's trademark trident leaning against a clothes rack. "Really, Finn? Did the Vikings even use tridents?"

"Any seafaring and fishing culture would have a big fork of some sort," Finn noted, picking it up and striking the pose that had earned him the nickname "god of the sea" in his breakout ad campaign years ago. "Besides, remember what Wiress said last night? My last name is literally Viking for _spear_."

**.**

**ooo**

**.**

Gale's costume was a long-sleeved, woolen tunic that went down to his knees, matching pants, and leather armor that someone had previously and rather enthusiastically covered in dirt and fake blood. "Where'd you get this stuff?"

"I have my connections," Finn said modestly. "They're used costumes from TV shows, historical reenactments, LARPers."

"You should've gotten a Viking ship, too."

Finn scowled. "My budget and my charm can only go so far."

Hair and makeup took less than five minutes, with the prep team unanimously agreeing that he was "camera ready" after a quick once-over with a foundation sponge that, as far as Gale could tell, barely made a difference.

"Finn, your friends are all as beautiful as you are," Venia gushed. "I would _kill_ for this one's eyelashes."

"Such a shame your lips are so dry, though," Octavia observed as she dabbed another coat of lip balm on him. "They're practically peeling in this weather, my goodness."

"I'm sure his girlfriend doesn't mind," Flavius teased him, from where he was combing out Madge's hair. "I bet he's a _great_ kisser. Isn't he, sweetie?"

Madge blushed furiously.

Where were all these people _getting_ that idea, anyway?

Gale and Finn were out of the tent before the girls, and Cinna—now sans sunglasses—went over the shot list with them, pointing out the places where he wanted them to stand and telling them what he wanted them to do. "We'll do solo shots first, just looking out toward the water. We'll try a few different variations, get you up on the rocks or by that big block of ice over there on the shore. Then we'll try group shots, see if any gems come out."

Finn went first, and Gale watched in admiration as his friend transformed before his eyes. Gone was the joker, the chatterbox, the lovesick puppy Gale had come to know. No one could deny that this man was a professional; an athlete _and _a model. Looking at Finn now, dressed in muddied, bloodied wool and leather, standing tall and strong with his trident in his hands, he looked every inch the warrior. Even with his artfully tousled hair, and just enough facial hair to make him scruffy but not long or thick enough to be a full-on Viking beard, the effect was just the right balance of modern and medieval that Cinna was going for.

Cinna had Finn pose against a few different backgrounds, with his trident and without, and a few times with a Viking-style circular shield with the Aegir logo painted on it.

"That's the money," Cinna said, showing them Finn's roll on the tablet that was wirelessly linked to his camera. "That's what we want. Now you, Gale."

The shield was much heavier than Gale had anticipated, and he immediately regretted his decision to pose with it first. After a few frames his arm began to tire, and it showed. "Relax your jaw, Gale," Cinna instructed him. "You can narrow your eyes, but don't squint." How the hell did Finn make all of this look so effortless?

Gale had to grimace when he saw his pictures. There were no two ways about it: he looked terrible. His posture was messed up, not to say anything of the constipated expression on his face.

Finn chuckled. "You look like your shit is trying to come out sideways there, mate."

"This was all your idea, Finn," Gale groused. "I told you I don't know how to do this sort of thing."

"You're just overthinking it, that's all," Finn shrugged. "This isn't one of those things you can engineer."

"I think we should try having someone in the frame with you," Cinna suggested. "Someone to put you at ease."

"I can do it," Finn volunteered. "Gale and I can be Viking bros."

Gale scowled. Him and Finn in a picture together? "You'll make me look even worse, if anything."

Just then, Effie's squeal of delight pierced the air. "_Fabulous_, absolutely fabulous!"

They all turned in the direction of her voice, and Finn grasped the front of Gale's shirt. "Well, then, I think I know just the one."

"Look at you ladies," Cinna complimented Madge and Annie. "I barely recognize you."

"They came in here looking very Ralph Lauren," Effie trilled. "But now they're positively Galliano, don't you think?"

Gale vaguely knew what, or who, Ralph Lauren was, but he had no idea what Galliano meant. Guessing by the way Madge and Annie looked, it probably meant something along the lines of _fucking smoking hot_.

Madge and Annie were dressed in slim-fitting wool tunics and pants, with knee-high boots and corsets made from chainmail and leather that—against all reason—managed to look both sexy _and_ sensible.

And that was just their clothes. Their hair was intricately styled to look traditional and cutting-edge at the same time. Annie's, for example, was parted and tightly braided on the left side to make it look like it had been shaved off. The right side cascaded down almost to her waist in luxurious waves, loose except for smaller braids interwoven with metal chains that glinted in the sunlight. As for Madge, she had several side braids, also accented with chains, and a messy fullness on the top that looked almost like a faux hawk. To finish the look, their eyes were rimmed with thick black liner, smudged and uneven and all the more beguiling because of it.

Madge cautiously patted the top of her head, and Gale noticed that her Mjolnir necklace added the perfect final touch. "I think Flavius went a little crazy with the backcombing," she was saying. "I don't think the Vikings had industrial-strength hair spray at their disposal."

"You look great," Gale told her, when he finally regained the ability to speak. "Really."

"I _feel_ great," Annie pronounced, twirling a spear in her hand. "Give me _all_ the battle scenes!"

Annie went on the offense, but Madge gracefully spun around to dodge her attack. "Ballet, bitches," she joked, and the word seemed so foreign coming from Madge that Gale had to smile.

Not to be outdone, Annie lunged into a martial arts pose. "I know kung fu… and a few other Chinese words."

Cinna was taking candids of the entire thing, and before anyone knew what was happening he had herded the girls toward the shore. "Let's shoot Madge and Annie together first, since they're all warmed up and ready to raid," he said with a smile. "Gale, I'll get back to you later."

Madge and Annie went through the poses almost as easily as Finn had done earlier, obediently angling their heads and bodies the way Cinna wanted them to. "Wonderful," Cinna said, visibly satisfied. "You two take direction very well."

"We've always been very good girls," Annie said innocently, and Madge burst out laughing. Effie captured the moment on her phone.

Next, Cinna had Madge and Annie pose by themselves, and while it wasn't as inspired as when they were together, it still blew Gale's first attempt out of the water.

"We look _awesome_," Annie exclaimed when she saw the photos on Cinna's tablet. "We're freaking badass shieldmaidens." She gave Madge a high five.

"Do couples this time, Cinna," Venia pleaded. "Everyone loves a little romance."

And of _course_ they had to pair up Finn with Annie, and Gale with Madge. "It's the hair color," Effie said by way of explanation. "Gale and Annie both have dark hair; it's more interesting to mix them up. And there's less of a height difference this way, too."

"All right, _Finn_," Einar cheered.

Cinna decided Gale and Madge were up first, since Gale wasn't done with his solos yet. The first few frames were easy enough: just standing beside each other while wielding their weapons.

"Now turn toward each other," Cinna instructed. "Gale, put your hand on her hip—just like that. Now look in each other's eyes."

Even through multiple layers of material, Gale was acutely aware of the curve of Madge's body under his hand. He desperately thought of something, _anything_ to say, hoping that conversation would distract him from the idle fantasies that were sure to follow otherwise. "I have no idea how this is supposed to sell wetsuits and surfboards," he finally said under his breath.

"I know, right?" Madge whispered back.

Cinna edged closer, taking more photos from different angles. "Pretend I'm not here," he said as he clicked away. "Just focus on each other."

Madge was so close, close enough for Gale to breathe in her green tea and citrus scent. _What would she smell like without perfume?_ He wondered.

Gale remembered, with a start, that it was Madge's ex-boyfriend who had given her that perfume. What was he like? Gale tried to imagine what Madge's type would be like, and pictured someone suave, perfect, and polished. Someone who would take her to art galleries and French restaurants. None of this budget-airline-hopping around Europe like Gale was proposing; he'd have his own private jet, ready to take her to brunch in Venice and dinner in Paris at a moment's notice.

"You're tensing up, Gale," Cinna warned him. "I can see it in your jaw."

"It's in your forehead, too," Madge said, reaching up to smooth the furrow in his brow.

And just like that—with just one touch—Gale felt all his worries and doubts melt away.

"That's great, Madge," Cinna said. "Keep doing that."

Madge's cheeks turned pink, but she did as Cinna said, tracing the outline of Gale's jaw with her fingertips. Gale unconsciously angled his face slightly so that he was almost nuzzling her hand. His eyes closed despite himself, and for a few moments all he could see were colors and light, green and purple and blue and blinding white, dancing behind his eyelids.

He took one step closer to her, or maybe it was Madge who moved closer to him, until he felt the cool, smooth skin of her forehead on his lips. He dropped the sword he was holding in his other hand, freeing it so that he could circle both arms around her waist.

He opened his eyes and found himself gazing deep into hers, and in that moment there was nothing but him and Madge, in this or any other universe. _You are everything that exists. You are everything that matters._

"Just kiss already," Octavia wailed, breaking the reverie.

Madge jumped back in surprise and a collective groan rose from the crowd, Finn's the loudest of all.

Cinna chuckled. "Don't worry, I got the shot I needed. Good job, Madge. Much, much better, Gale."

The rest of them crowded around Cinna so they could look at the photos, but Gale stayed back, taking hold of Madge's elbow so she would do the same. "I'm sorry if—if I made you feel uncomfortable," he stammered.

Madge shook her head. "It's all right, Gale. Don't worry about it. You were just doing your job."

She excused herself to return to the tent, not even bothering to take a look at their photos. Gale stood rooted to the spot, staring at her retreating back and thinking, _Were you?_

* * *

><p>.<p>

.

**A/N:** w00t, longest chapter yet! Did you spot the _Enthralled_ references? :)

Just to be clear, Annie's brother Rafe is alive and kicking. We'll go more into his backstory with Jo once we get to the Denmark chapters.

"Muso" is Aussie slang for "musician". The song they were listening to on the drive is "Heimförin" by Ásgeir Trausti. It's a gorgeous song and I highly recommend it, especially the Icelandic live version. I will be putting up an Odesta fanmix on Tumblr this weekend, along with the commentaries for this chapter and the previous one (fingers crossed because I've been so terrible at time management lately).

GADGE WEEK is December 8-14! Check out **finnickodone**'s Tumblr for details, and of course the team from **GadgeFicRecs** will be there supporting the fandom in whatever way we can!


	8. Chapter 8

"_God_, that was amazing," Finn was saying. "I've never seen anything like it. Fucking _chemistry_, mate. Everyone's cheesed off at Octavia for ruining the moment."

Gale tuned him out. He didn't need Finn telling him any of this; he'd experienced it firsthand, especially the part about being pissed off at Octavia. He stared down at his hands, the lines on his palms, the veins on his arms. Just minutes ago he'd been wrapped around Madge, and the memory of it was branded onto his skin. What was it about her? Why was she driving him completely, utterly insane?

More importantly, how was he _ever_ going to survive being alone with her?

"Gale?" Cinna called. "We're ready for your solos."

Finn patted him on the shoulder. "Off you go."

Gale resumed his position in front of the camera, wondering what he could do to _not_ totally fail at this. But Cinna beckoned for him to come closer. "I want to show you something first."

Gale fully expected Cinna to show him the pictures he'd just taken with Madge, and was surprised to see a younger version of himself on the screen. "I pulled these up from my archives just now," Cinna explained gently. "Have you seen these before?"

"I think so, but it's been a while," Gale said, watching in fascination as Cinna swiped through more old photos. "Damn, these take me back."

He'd been skinnier then, despite a steady diet of pizza, Chinese takeout, Jucy Lucys, beer, and Red Bull. The only time he actually _saw_ green leafy vegetables in college was when his mother, or someone else's, cooked for him. Between classes, homework, his part-time job, ice hockey and—he felt his throat begin to tighten—_Katniss_, feeding himself like an adult hadn't been a priority.

Speaking of the devil.

Cinna watched his face carefully as Gale lingered on a photo of him and Katniss backstage at the runway show. She was flashing the peace sign at the camera; he was throwing up the horns. Gale wondered how many photos of him were taken from 2000 to 2012 with that exact same hand gesture. He figured he didn't want to know.

"I look really full of myself in these," Gale said. He made a mental note, the next time he talked to Thom or Bristel, to ask: _Why didn't anyone tell me I looked like a fucking smug bastard?_

Cinna laughed. "That's not entirely a bad thing."

"Wow, you didn't even try to deny it," Gale remarked dryly. Clearly, Cinna wasn't from Minnesota. Gale briefly wondered how the Vikings would react to the knowledge that their descendants' weapons of choice were lethal doses of forced politeness and passive aggressiveness. From what he'd heard, where Madge and Annie grew up it was pretty much the same way.

"I wanted to show you how confident you were back then," Cinna said with a smile. "You weren't overthinking it, or putting pressure on yourself to do well. You were just having fun with your friends, like Madge and Annie were doing earlier."

"Well, now my friends include _the_ Finnick Odair, so it's a little different this time."

"True," Cinna conceded. "Finn is efficient, and consistent. He knows how to get in the zone, and he can do it faster than anyone else I've ever worked with."

"Maybe he's always in the zone."

"Oh, trust me, he's not. It looks like everything is fun and games to him, but he's the hardest worker in the business, and he takes things very seriously." Cinna paused for a moment, and touched his finger to the screen. "I talked to Katniss recently."

"Katniss?" Gale repeated, feeling his forehead wrinkle in confusion. "You're still in touch with Katniss?" This was news to him.

"Her sister Prim followed me on my Facebook fan page years ago," Cinna said. "So I added them both on my personal one. I don't get to hear from them often, but I always enjoy it when I do."

"Oh." Well, that explained it. Posy's words at the airport rang in his ears. _I swear, Gale, you're so medieval. _He knew next to nothing about social media, except that most people—his siblings included—used it a lot. Sometimes, when Posy talked about boys in her class, he would threaten to open an account, but he had never actually followed through. The concept itself had never appealed to him. Why would he subject himself to unsolicited baby pictures and the drunken ramblings of half-remembered high school classmates? He wouldn't put up with it in real life; why would he put up with it on the internet?

As far as he could remember, Katniss wasn't too interested in social media either, but apparently she used it enough. It seemed as if the longer Gale knew Katniss, the less he knew _about_ her. What did that have to say about their relationship?

_We used to be good together, Gale. But we've changed, and we're not anymore._

Cinna continued. "And I'm probably stepping out of line here, but… even though I'm sorry that you're no longer together, in a way, I'm also glad."

"I wasn't trying to take advantage of Madge earlier, I _swear_—"

Cinna held his finger up to silence him. "I know you weren't. It's not that. Look at these photos, Gale. I don't know Katniss very well, and I don't know you at all. But sometimes you can tell when a couple is better off as friends. And sometimes you can tell when friends should be more."

Gale studied the photos in silence. He and Katniss looked happy and completely at ease with each other. The runway show was, what, a year into their relationship? But he had to admit the pictures didn't look much different from any of the ones he had ever taken with his little sister. Even the one where he was giving Katniss a kiss on the cheek, and her face was scrunched up in mock disgust—it looked like a reenactment of a picture of him and Posy.

He missed Katniss. He was still hurting, even though this trip and the people he had met on it had done a lot to take his mind off that. On the other hand, he felt—he felt that he was making real, genuine progress. He wasn't feeling bitter, at least, about what could have been. Not anymore. He was just grieving over a part of his life that had run its course.

Most of all, he missed his best friend. He wished he could pick up the phone and tell Katniss about Finn, about Beetee and the job offer he'd gotten, about this photo shoot and meeting Cinna again, about going off to see Thom and possibly Jo. About Madge.

"Can I see the—the photos from earlier?" Gale found himself asking. "With me and Madge."

Cinna smiled. "I thought you'd never ask."

**.**

**ooo**

**.**

Annie poked her head into the tent. "Madge? Are you okay?"

Madge smiled weakly at Annie's reflection in the mirror. "Just a little flustered."

Annie reached out and smoothed down a stray strand of blonde hair that was sticking up from one of Madge's braids. "Don't mess up your hair; Flavius will have a fit."

Madge snorted. "Why? You would think it's more authentic this way."

"I don't know. Wiress did say the Vikings were super vain and cleaner-than-thou."

"Yes, but I think their priorities would have been different on the battlefield."

Annie pulled up a plastic stool and sat down across from Madge. A little smile danced around the corners of her mouth. "So… that was hot. You and Gale, I mean."

Madge groaned. "_What?_ After all that grief you put me through about not getting too attached?"

"Hey, I still stand by that," Annie defended herself. "But I'm just stating the facts. It was, objectively, hot. I'm a scientist, Madge. I have to report on my findings as they are, regardless of my feelings on the matter."

"Gee, thanks."

"Plus, I think this costume is doing things to my brain. It's making me feel… like a fighter, you know? Like I can take on anyone and anything. Tougher… braver, somehow. More willing to take risks, and more understanding of people who do."

"Are you kidding? You've always been all of those things," Madge said. "You've been traveling around the world, and raising the money to do it, since college. Not a lot of women, not a lot of _people_ have the guts to do that alone. You know how to take care of yourself."

"I don't know. I felt like I _had_ to do those things. Like I owed it to myself for some reason. I doubt bravery had anything to do with it."

"I'm sure it does. And I get what you mean about the costume. It's happening to me, too. It makes me feel… alive."

Madge's face burned. _Alive_ wasn't even the half of it. If she had been alone with Gale just then, who knows what she would have done? She always thought of herself as the kind of person who needed a meaningful relationship before she even started to _think_ about sex, and all of her previous experience had supported that. But she'd be lying if she denied that she had been ready to literally jump Gale Hawthorne just then.

_It's the traveling,_ Madge thought. _Everything's new and exciting. The sights, the food, the people, the language. I'm associating the thrill of travel with Gale, and I'm getting carried away._

Those eyes didn't help, either. When she first saw Gale at the airport, he reminded her so much of the vision she'd had on the day Seneca came out to her. It was as if Madge had summoned Gale into existence out of sheer willpower.

Annie looked at Madge with a bemused expression on her face. "You look very conflicted."

"I… I'm hungry," Madge said. Which was true. The shoot was well-stocked with hot coffee and bottles of the sparkling water Annie liked, and Finn had asked whether they wanted to eat when they first arrived, but they'd been too excited to do anything but get into costume right away.

"Finn said we would grab a bite before the wetsuit shoot, but maybe we can sneak a snack now. I saw the Icelanders eating crackers and caviar a while ago."

"As you do."

Annie laughed. "It's more common here than in the US. You can get it at gas stations, even." She held out her hand to Madge. "Come on. Let's get back out there."

**.**

**ooo**

**.**

Gale was doing his shoot, and Finn was on the phone, when Annie and Madge emerged from the tent.

Finn's face flushed when he saw them coming, and he immediately angled his body away and dropped his voice to a lower register. Despite herself, Annie felt her hackles raise. Who was he talking to?

She caught bits and pieces of Finn's side of the conversation as they approached. _Yeah, it's going fairly well, actually… The costumes are epic, and Cinna's a genius as per usual… You're going out with the girls tonight? Are you sure you're feeling up to it?_

The affection and concern in his voice made Annie feel sick to her stomach. What was it Finn had said, the first time he invited them to do the shoot with him? _All my models came down with strep throat at the same time. _Was he talking to one of "his" models, then? How many did he even have?

Annie managed to paste a big smile onto her face by the time Finn turned to them. "How's it going?" he asked them, his hand over the phone.

"We were just wondering if you had some snacks lying around," Annie said brightly, her voice coming out embarrassingly loud and high-pitched.

"Oh, of course. Hang on." Finn twisted away again, and Annie just barely made out the words _I'll call you back later_ and _love you._

Annie felt her hand ball into a fist. _He said that to me once, _she thought as she blinked back tears. _I didn't say it back._

"Easy now," Madge said quietly. "Don't jump to conclusions."

_It's Cashmere, I know it,_ Annie despaired. Cashmere was a childhood friend of Finn's from the Melbourne board riders club; they'd started their professional careers in the same year, and they were almost instantly inundated by offers to go into modeling and acting full-time. Finn had remained loyal to his sport, starting his own line of surf gear and becoming one of its most visible advocates, though from time to time he would accept a modeling gig or appear in his friends' music videos. As for Cashmere, however, it wasn't long before other, more lucrative opportunities lured her away from surfing permanently. Last Annie heard, she had recently gotten her wings at the Victoria's Secret fashion show.

Annie had met Cashmere exactly once before, and she had everything Annie didn't: legs for days, unbridled sex appeal, the ability to hold a tan for more than a week. Long story short, she was perfect for Finn. _Oh my god, if it's Cashmere, I'm going to scream. I'm going to scream, I'm going to cry, I'm going to lock myself up in the apartment for the rest of the year. _Who was Annie kidding? This "just friends" thing with Finn would never work. She knew they couldn't be together, but if he found someone else—and it looked like he already had—it would kill her.

Finn conferred with Effie for a moment, and came back with two containers of strawberry _skyr_. "Effie's assistant already went out to get our food, and the guys ate all the crackers," he informed them. "But you can have some of this while we're waiting. I know how much you liked the dessert from the restaurant last night."

"How sweet of you to remember events from the past twenty-four hours," Annie replied, a little more sarcastically than she had intended.

"Thank you, Finn," Madge said politely, shifting her weight from one foot to another and bumping into Annie on purpose.

Finn gave them an odd look. "No worries."

His attention was diverted by Gale walking up to them. "Well, I'm all done," Gale said, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Oh, yeah? How was it?" Finn asked.

"Pretty good. Cinna talked me through it." Gale jabbed his thumb over his shoulder. "Finn, Annie, you're up next."

"Knock 'em dead," Madge called after Annie as she walked away.

_Oh, I will._ Annie stomped off resolutely toward Cinna, feeling the satisfying crunch of the rocks and the sand under her Viking costume boots. _When I'm through, Finnick Odair won't know what hit him._

**.**

**ooo**

**.**

In the year and a half that he'd known her in Australia, Finn had seen many sides of Annie Cresta. Suited up in her scuba gear to collect specimens. Pulling all-nighters in the lab with her glasses sitting crookedly on her face, her hair haphazardly swooped up and held in place with a Biro. In a swimming cap and a sensible navy blue bathing suit, volunteering to help arthritis patients at the local physiotherapy pool.

He'd seen her sick, her nose red and raw, shivering underneath her doona. He'd been in town the first time she had fallen ill away from home, and even though they weren't even proper friends yet at the time, he had brought her chicken soup and ginger beer because she was too weak to do anything for herself.

And once—just once—he'd seen the last of the walls she had carefully built around herself come crashing down.

But he had never seen her like this.

"Looking fierce, Annie," Venia shouted from the sidelines, shaping her hands like a megaphone around her mouth.

_Fierce_ was an understatement. From where he stood, right beside Annie but not touching her in any way, Finn could practically hear her body humming with energy. Cinna lavished praise on her as she flowed from one pose to another, using her spear as if it were an extension of her arm. Nobody watching her would have ever suspected that it was her first time.

Cinna decided on a different tack after Gale and Madge's shoot, and instructed Finn to stand behind Annie with his hands resting lightly on her shoulders.

"Shoulders?" Axel whined.

"Aw, you're not going to let Gale show you up, are you, Finn?" Gunnar called.

"Don't mind them," Finn said to Annie under his breath.

"Oh, I don't," Annie responded easily, turning her head so she could look at him. Her eyes burned into his, hard and glittering, like emeralds in the sun. "I think they have a point, actually."

Annie reached up and, in one smooth movement, brought his hands down from her shoulders and laid them flat on her stomach.

His heart lurched forward in his chest.

"Just like old times," she whispered. "Remember?"

He dipped his head and touched his lips to her shoulder to hide the blood rushing to his face. The crowd went wild. "Yeah."

**.**

**ooo**

**.**

December 2011

Brisbane

_Other men—lesser men—preferred an explosive release, all sound and fury, the kind of finish you saw in the movies. Not Finnick Odair. He was the kind of man who did things right or not at all. He understood that maximizing pleasure was both a science and an art; his expertise derived from experience and intuition, two things he possessed in spades. With his nimble fingers and precise angles, he rocked back and forth slowly and steadily, his senses keenly attuned to the pressure building within. _

_When it was over, he eased out with a soft hiss, and felt himself fill with pride at yet another job well done._

"_And _that_," he told Annie, with a self-satisfied smirk on his face, "is the correct way to uncork champagne."_

_Annie rolled her eyes at him as she held out her flute. "Shut up and pour."_

"_That's not how a highly educated person such as yourself should talk the week before her graduation," he reprimanded her as he filled her glass. "You should set a better example for humble folk like me."_

"_Please," she scoffed. "You have to be smart to even drop out of Melbourne Uni."_

"_Ah, stop it, you're making me blush." He poured himself a glass and raised it in the air. "A toast. To the master."_

_Annie laughed. "Well, if you win in Oahu, you'll be a master, too."_

"_Joke's on you, because I already won two years in a row, so technically I got my master's before you."_

_They clinked glasses and took a sip before sitting back on the couch and putting their feet up on the coffee table._

"_Popcorn?" she offered, holding up the bowl._

_He opened his mouth wide and she shoveled a handful in._

"_Are you sure this is a good pairing?" Annie wanted to know. "Popcorn and champagne?"_

"_It's not for posh wankers, but my sommelier friend swears by it," Finn assured her, letting the bubbles tickle his nose before he took another sip._

"_Sounds like an oxymoron."_

"_Who're you calling an oxymoron?"_

_Annie giggled and reached for the remote to start the movie._

"_This is the life," Finn said. "Champagne, popcorn, _Monty Python_, and thou."_

"_Always so poetic."_

_Finn's face grew serious. "I just wish I didn't have to fly out tomorrow. I really want to be here for your graduation next week."_

"_But if you don't leave for Hawaii soon, you won't be able to work off your jet lag before the competition."_

"_You'll be here when I get back, right? Your flight home isn't until next month?"_

_She bit her lip and nodded mutely._

"_Good, because I really want to—"_

_Annie surged forward, silencing him with a kiss._

_It wasn't their first kiss. No, their first kiss was a disaster, a clumsy attempt on his part six months ago that was so bad she didn't talk to him until after he came back from California. In the end, they resumed their friendship by pretending the kiss never happened, and since then he hadn't dared to try again._

_But now _she_ was kissing _him_, her lips tugging at his with an urgency that blindsided him. He sat up straighter so he could pull her closer, tasting the sweet effervescence of the champagne on her tongue. When she twisted around to take their flutes and set them aside on the coffee table, her shirt edged up just enough to reveal a sliver of porcelain skin, and without thinking he reached out and touched it, drawing shapes on her with his thumb. Circles. Loops. Figure eights. Infinity._

_Annie let out a soft gasp at the contact, and before he knew what was happening she was straddling him, one knee on either side of his thighs, her body pressing insistently against his. She smelled sweet, like honey, like the wattles that flowered in the spring, but underneath the champagne she tasted like seawater. Sweat. Tears. _Beauty in the dissonance.

_Finn felt himself stiffen and strain against his jeans._

_She knew him better than anyone else by now, but still he didn't want to risk her misunderstanding, didn't want her to think they were turning into friends with benefits. He wanted them to be so much more, and he was in this for the long haul. He had to tell her before he lost his chance. _

"_I love you, Annie."_

_And he did. He was crazy about this girl, everything she did, everything about her. He spent his life trying to be everything for everyone, but when he was around her, he could just be _himself_. In fact, if it were possible to be more than one hundred percent himself, that was the way she made him feel. As if she had unlocked some part of his identity he didn't even know existed. Finnick Odair had never believed in soulmates, but holding her in his arms right then, he knew for certain he had found his. He would follow Annie Cresta to the ends of the earth. He would follow her until the end of time._

"_Don't say it," Annie breathed, winding her arms around his neck, her fingers finding their way into his hair. "Show it."_

_Her words, and the way she was nibbling at his ear, made something snap inside him. She let out a squeak when he rose from the couch, taking her with him as if she weighed nothing at all. She clung to him, her legs tightening around his waist as his arms held her up by her thighs. He carried her up the stairs to the bedroom, his hands only leaving her body just long enough to flick the light on._

_Annie had never been in his room before, and she giggled when she saw the mirror that ran along the entire length and width of the doors of his built-in wardrobe. "You're such a preener, Finn. Do you ever get lost in your own reflection?"_

_Finn took that as a signal to deposit her right in front of the mirror. "No," he said huskily, standing behind her and placing his hands on her shoulders. "But I wouldn't mind getting lost in yours."_

_Annie watched, captivated, as he pushed her hair to one side and brushed his lips along her throat. He nudged the scoop neck of her shirt down, down, pressing reverent kisses on her exposed shoulder. He slid his hands down her arms and across her warm belly, lifting the hem of her shirt so they could see the contrast of his tanned hands against her milk-and-roses coloring._

_He undressed her carefully, methodically, putting his lips to each newly bare expanse of skin. The moles on her upper chest. The dip of her waist. The dimples in her lower back, just above her panties._

"_May I?" he asked softly, running his finger underneath the strap of her bra._

_Annie gazed up at him with those soulful eyes, a light sheen of sweat on her upper lip and on the bridge of her nose. Her lips were parted, so innocent and yet so sensuous, but she didn't speak. Instead, she nodded and swallowed at the same time, the tendons in her neck standing out as she did, the hollow in her collarbone deepening to reveal the pulse quickening under the skin. _

_It was, without a doubt, the single most erotic thing he had ever seen._

_He wanted to press her up against the mirror and take her standing up right then and there, but Finn ignored the impulse, concentrating on sliding the straps off one shoulder and then the other. Annie moaned, her shoulders rounding forward to help him, trembling under his touch as he gently eased her soft breasts out of the cups and cradled them in his callused hands. Her head lolled back when he bent down and wrapped his lips around one nipple, savoring the feel of it in his mouth, using his tongue to trace a spiral outward from the center._

_He let her pull his shirt over his head, but when he felt her fingers scrabbling at his waistband he reached a hand out to stop her. "Not yet," he whispered. "We have all night."_

"_Okay," she agreed, bringing her hands back up to his head, her eyelids fluttering shut as he put his mouth on her once again._

_He did what she asked: he made her feel his love, he made the night count. But even the most passionate of nights had to give way to the dawn, and at daybreak they stood together on his balcony, Finn in his pajama bottoms and Annie wearing the matching top, watching with sinking hearts as the sun rose over the horizon._

_He sighed into her hair. "I miss you already."_

_She buried her face in his chest. "So do I."_

**.**

**ooo**

**.**

By the end of Finn and Annie's Viking shoot, they were draped in a fishing net, their faces only inches apart. Venia had firmly clamped her hand over Octavia's mouth in case she ruined the moment a second time. But it had stopped there, and the crowd came away feeling as if they had just witnessed a chess game: strategy, provocation, neither wanting to be the one to overstep a boundary, but both goading the other to do just that.

The onlookers' frustration at the second non-kiss of the day was quickly mollified by the arrival of the food. Soon, everyone was digging into steaming bowls of traditional fish stew served with buttered potatoes, rye bread, and lemon.

The Icelanders were especially enthusiastic, and Axel swore when Einar speared one of his potatoes from his plate.

"What does that mean?" Madge asked, her ears perking up at the unfamiliar word.

"_Drullusokkur_?" Axel repeated. "It means—"

"A toilet plunger," Gunnar filled in. "One of our milder curse words, believe it or not."

Effie clucked in distaste from the other table where she was reviewing the day's progress with Cinna and Finn. "Manners!"

But Effie was quickly overruled. "Teach us more," Octavia requested, leaning forward.

"Are you sure?" Einar grinned. "Some of them are very… specific. And probably not suited for sharing over a meal."

"Try me," Gale said. He was always up for new ways to insult his friends, and Rory when their mother wasn't listening.

"It'll be educational, too," Madge, who was sitting next to him, added. On Madge's other side, Annie sat quietly, taking small bites and pushing potatoes from one side of her plate to the other.

The others nodded in agreement. At the other table, Effie made a big show of putting headphones on to watch some of the behind-the-scenes video footage.

Einar chewed thoughtfully on his bread. "Let's see… there's _hlandbrenndu. _May you burn from your own urine._"_

Gale half-laughed, half-choked on his stew, and Madge rubbed his back and made him drink water until he stopped coughing.

"_Kúkalabbi_," Axel suggested. "A poop walking on two legs. Or _brundþró_. That means something you, uh, ejaculate in."

"There—there seems to be a pattern here," Gale sputtered.

"Anything the Vikings might have used?" Madge questioned.

"I think they probably used a lot of the same swears back then," Gunnar speculated. "But my grandfather used to say something that I don't hear much anymore. _Meinfretr_."

"Let me guess," Gale said. "More bodily secretions."

"You got it," the Icelander replied with a chuckle. "It means 'stinkfart'."

**.**

**ooo**

**.**

After that instructive meal, it was time for them to change into their wetsuits and get their hair and makeup done for the second half of the shoot. For Madge and Annie, it meant swapping smoky eyes for a dewy, no-makeup look, and their elaborate braids for loose beach waves.

"Are you going to surf later?" Madge asked as Annie helped her into her suit. The zipperless style daunted her at first, but Annie showed her how to put plastic bags on her hands and feet to make it easier to slide in. "You can borrow one of the boards. They've got GoPros attached."

"It looks like fun," Annie replied, checking Madge from head to toe to make sure that the flaps and seams laid flat. "I'd love to take this suit out for a spin."

Finn had boasted about his merchandise at dinner last night, and everyone—especially Annie, Gale, and Beetee—had been impressed by the amount of research and engineering that went into them. "We looked at the challenges of cold water surfing, and addressed each one," Finn had explained.

The first and most basic challenge was warmth. "We studied how the best synthetic down was made, and adapted those processes for our neoprene," Finn had told them. "More air gets blown into the foam during manufacturing, and what you get is a product that's ten percent lighter but twenty percent warmer than the current best in class. Then we pair it with the fastest-drying liner in the business, so you don't freeze when you get out of the water."

Now that Madge was actually wearing it, she could fully appreciate the technology. Besides the high-tech materials, the suits were designed without zippers and had narrower seams "for the ultimate in flexibility and durability", as Finn had put it. The seams also happened to come in fluorescent shades that glowed in the dark, _Tron_-style; Effie's influence, Madge supposed, but certainly also useful in terms of safety and visibility.

The wetsuit came with matching gloves and boots. It also came with a balaclava, but Cinna said they wouldn't be taking too many pictures with it on.

Madge was putting on her boots when a chorus of wolf whistles came from the direction of the shore. "Hey, hot stuff!" a voice she recognized as belonging to one of the Icelanders yelled.

In a flash, Octavia, Flavius, and Venia were out of the tent and adding their own shrieks and squeals to the din. Madge hopped after them, one of her boots still in her hand.

"Hey, Annie," Madge yelled over her shoulder at her best friend, who had just finished putting her own wetsuit on. "How long did you know Finn for, again?"

"Just under a year and a half," Annie replied, coming over to see what the fuss was all about. Her jaw dropped, and Madge didn't need best friend telepathy to know what she was thinking. There could be only one reaction to the unearthly vision that was Finnick Odair in his skintight wetsuit.

To paraphrase Annie herself, _that_ was hot. Objectively, unequivocally, sizzling hot.

"And how many times did you say you slept with him?"

"Madge!" Annie quickly glanced at the prep team, but they were busy drooling and didn't seem to hear. "I told you, it was just once."

"Yeah, about that." Madge's eyes ran up and down Finn's impressive physique. "You're going to have to tell me… exactly _how _you_ resisted… _that fine, _fine_ man… for a _year_ and a _half_."

Finn turned his back to them, treating them to a view of his muscular ass.

"Lord have mercy," Flavius cried, fanning himself.

"Self-control, my dear, self control." Annie grabbed Madge's face and turned it a few degrees to the right, just in time for Gale to come into range in all his tall, broad-shouldered glory. He jogged up to Finn, looking so unbelievably handsome that it was all Madge could do not to spontaneously combust. "And trust me, you're going to need a _lot_ of it."

**.**

**ooo**

**.**

Gale Hawthorne was not a surfer. Hell, he wasn't even much of a swimmer. He preferred his water frozen, like the pond where his father had first taught him to skate and push a puck around, or the rink where he still scrimmaged with Thom and Bristel, years after their glory days of varsity hockey.

As beautiful as Jökulsárlón was, the water there had the audacity to 1) not be frozen, and 2) still be fucking freezing cold regardless. Luckily, Gale didn't have to go into the water; all he had to do was wear a ridiculously tight wetsuit and pose with a surfboard on the shore as if he knew what to do with it.

"How do you hide a boner in this thing?" Gale grumbled to Finn, when they first got dressed behind the tent while the girls stayed inside it.

Finn raised an eyebrow. "Why do you ask?"

Gale glared at him. Was Finn seriously going to make him say it out loud? "Forget it."

The Icelanders picked up on his discomfort straight away, and responded by mercilessly teasing him even though they were all wearing the exact same thing. Gradually, however, Gale got used to the idea of parading around in something that clung to his junk. In fact, his performance in his solo shoot improved by leaps and bounds when he changed his approach from "WTF am I even doing" to "shamelessly showing off for Madge".

"So," Gale said casually, when Madge took her place next to him for their couples' shoot, "you were totally checking me out just now."

He had never seen Madge turn so red, so fast. "I was _not_!" she objected vehemently.

He figured that making light of it would diffuse the tension, but now that he had started teasing her, he couldn't stop. It was far too much fun. "There's no shame in it. You're only human."

Madge whirled around and started hitting him on the chest with her fists.

"Easy, easy!" Gale laughed, grasping her wrists in his hands. "Cinna hasn't even started shooting yet."

Madge looked at him with disdain, but Gale could tell that she was also trying her best not to smile. "You… you…" she began, and for a nanosecond he could practically see the gears turning in her head as she searched for a suitable comeback. But Madge was a quick thinker, and her blue eyes lit up as she seized upon her new favorite word. "You _stinkfart_!"

**.**

**ooo**

**.**

The wetsuits were trickier to photograph than the Viking costumes, and Cinna's assistants were constantly rearranging the softboxes and reflectors to do justice to the textures, colors, and skin tones on display. But soon it was time for the last few shots of the day, and Cinna motioned for Finn to join Annie in front of the camera.

"Ready for round two?" Annie asked him when he resumed his position at her side.

_We're still playing this game? _Finn had no idea what had gotten into Annie, but if she was playing, so was he."I went easy on you the first time," he declared. "Prepared to be knocked out."

Annie narrowed her eyes. "Not if I knock you out first."

Cinna took them through most of the same poses they had tried in their Viking shoot, modified to accommodate the longboards they had brought in. Finn made sure to linger on each touch, to make each movement more deliberate, but Annie gave as good as she got. Throughout all of this, he remained painfully aware of the fact that they were being watched, videotaped, and photographed, and Gale's question in the back of his mind kept him from going too far.

It wasn't long, though, before the fishing net was arranged over their shoulders like before. Almost as soon as their bodies were partially obscured from view, he felt Annie's hand—her right hand, the one facing away from the camera—slide down to his ass.

She lifted one eyebrow ever so slightly. "You still got it," she whispered, her breath warm on his lips.

And for the second time in their convoluted history together, Finn threw all caution to the wind.

"Yeah," he said, cupping the back of her neck with his hand. "I still do."

It wasn't the awkward, uncoordinated sham of their first kiss, nor did it have the desperate urgency of the second and all that came after. Finn poured his heart into it, all the pain from when he realized Annie had left Australia without saying goodbye, the devastation from knowing she was lost to him and didn't want to be found. _Do you believe me, Annie? Do you believe me now?_

He wanted to hate her. He wanted to be done with her, and forget her, and move on. For as long as he could remember, he'd taken every hit that life had to throw at him, and he'd always come out stronger. Wiser. _Better_. But right now, kissing Annie Cresta and realizing she tasted exactly the same as before, he knew there would be no recovering from this. There would be no recovering from _her_.

It was only when he felt Annie's hot tears on his face that he pulled away. "There," he managed to say, in a voice low enough so the others wouldn't hear. "You got what you wanted. How long will you disappear for this time? One month? Two years? Forever?"

Annie was as white as a sheet, her lips red and swollen. She was so close, he could see the tears clinging to her lashes. Finn tore his gaze away from her and looked at Cinna.

Cinna nodded, his eyes soft and understanding. "That's a wrap."

**.**

**ooo**

**.**

Annie followed him back to the empty tent. "What the fuck was that?" she demanded.

Finn let out a hollow laugh. "Not so much fun when you're the one being walked out on, isn't it?"

The tears were flowing freely now, coursing down her face one after the other. "_Fuck you_, Finnick Odair."

"Maybe you should," he shot back. "Maybe once you get me out of your system—_again_—you'll stop messing with my head."

The words were like a slap in the face. "That's what you think? That I got you _out of my system_?"

"Why?" he challenged her. "Isn't that what happened?"

It took all of Annie's self-restraint not to scream. "And how am _I_ the one messing with _your_ head? God knows how many girls you're stringing along as we speak. Or have you given them all up for Cashmere?"

Finn looked at her as if she'd sprouted a second head. "_What_ in the _world_ are you talking about?"

The words escaped her mouth before she could stop them. "That phone call, from earlier. Who were you talking to?"

"_What_ phone call?" Finn looked completely befuddled.

"You know what I mean! You—you said _I love you_. To someone. On the phone."

Annie's blood boiled when Finn started to laugh. "You mean _Mags_?"

"That was Mags?" she repeated, dumbfounded. Mags was Finn's grandmother, the one who took him in when he was a boy, after his mother died and his father threw all their money away gambling. She had stayed behind in Melbourne after Finn relocated to Queensland for the surf, but they had always been as thick as thieves, and Annie had no reason to think anything had changed in that regard. She had met Mags only once before, but the prospect of never seeing Finn's tough, sassy, and devoted grandmother again was one of the most difficult things about cutting all her ties to him.

"You can check my call history if you want. Her arthritis was acting up, but you know her. She's stubborn. She's going out dancing with the ladies." Finn stepped closer to her, the hint of a roguish smile flickering dangerously across his face. "Annika Cresta, were you jealous of my nanna?"

Annie ignored the question. "If that was really Mags, then why were you acting so secretive and twitchy about it?"

"Because I was telling her about _you_, you crazy woman, and I didn't want you to overhear."

Annie's shoulders sagged, and Finn reached out to take hold of her arms. "I'm sorry, Finn," she said, blinking back a fresh round of tears. "For leaving the way I did. For everything. I was terrified of getting hurt. Your world, your reality… it's so _different_ from mine. I thought it was going to be a matter of time before you left me."

"Annie—" he started to say, but she cut him off.

"I've been selfish, and I understand if you never want to see me again. But… don't even think, for one _second_, that I got you out of my system." Her chin began to quiver. "I will never, _ever_ get you out of my system."

"This is my world, Annie," Finn said, taking her hand and placing it over his chest. His heartbeat was strong, constant, steadfast. "This is my reality. It's you, and me. I'll never get _you_ out of _my_ system."

"What about—what about your career?" Annie sniffed, savagely swiping at the dampness on her face. "What about mine? We're both so… so transient."

"We'll make it work," he promised, tangling his fingers in hers. "We're both travelers and wanderers. We just need to do it together. I'll do anything to keep you, Annie… I love you."

Annie gazed back up at Finn, at the face that had haunted her dreams for so long. Madge was right: she was miserable without him. He inspired her; he made her want to take a chance on life. It was useless for her to pretend otherwise.

This time, she wasn't going to run. This time, she wasn't going to hide. She wasn't afraid, not anymore.

And this time, she said it back.

* * *

><p>.<p>

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**A/N:** This was supposed to be two chapters, but I felt so bad about Finn and Annie, I wanted to put them out of their misery ASAP. I hope the length and the fact that we've got one couple sorted makes up for how late this is.

Even though I consulted a few different sources, I do not speak Icelandic myself, so I apologize if I have mangled the Icelandic language in any way. You are free to call me a stinkfart, or any of the choice words that were mentioned today. :)


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